Well, the die is cast. The invitations have gone out and, for the past couple of days, the ivory envelopes containing all our hopes and dreams have been dropping through letterboxes the length and breadth of the country - and, if they make it that far - as far afield as Nairobi and Hong Kong. It is strange, slightly unnerving to know that our wedding invitation could be pride of place on somebody's mantelpiece. It all feels very grown-up and public and out there, as if all our plans have up until now been built on sand, and now they have a solid, concrete foundation.

“This is it,” I told my future husband, handing him the envelope that I had arrived home to discover on our doormat (well, it didn't seem right that we were the only ones who didn't get to see it). “Are we invited?” he japed. “Yep, you free that weekend?” I asked. “Hmm, I'll check - might have arranged to be out with the boys.” “Hilarious,” I said, propping it up proudly on the mantelpiece and stepping back to admire our friend George’s beautiful handiwork. It did look good -¬ and through the flutter of butterfly wings in my stomach I felt a sudden surge of excitement. It felt like I had just found Willy Wonka's golden ticket. Six weeks to go and counting. Let the games commence!

It's a strange thing, the wedding invitation. Not only are there layers of complication about who to invite, but nobody tells you exactly how much work goes into collating more than 90 addresses and ensuring the invites all go out without a hitch. In the end, the job fell to my dad, who masterfully took control of the operation and saw that every last one went out on time. Left to me, there would still be guests receiving their summonses right up until the big day, if not beyond.

Well, now the job is done, and I'm off to the south of France for my last family holiday as a single girl. “You'll come back with a great tan for the wedding,” said my friend Tim (ever the bloke), when I told him I'd be away for a week. “Better not,” I replied. “Don't want to look like an old tan handbag on my wedding day.” So it's SPF20, parasols and plenty of shade for this bride-to-be. After all, what's the point of having a white wedding if you're going to turn up orange?

The Hitch is delighted to confirm that it has received and accepted its invitation, and an exquisitely beauteous object it is too. Anyone else out there experiencing invite fright? Click and tell, girlfriends, click and tell.