It's taken me a while to work it out, but planning a wedding is one big exercise in micro management. From the moment you set the date you're bombarded with hundreds of questions that need answers and problems that need solutions, and then it's a case of juggling balls until the big day. No wonder some brides resign from their jobs to concentrate on their wedding plans - being a control freak is a full-time career.

Show me a laid-back bride who couldn't care less how her wedding pans out and I'll show you... well, I don't know what I'll show you, actually. All I'm saying is that person would have to be a very rare beast indeed - a chilled-out, pot-smoking hippy of a rare beast. Every bride wants to have some kind of say about where, when and with whom. Control is what we brides do. It's our job.

But there are times when you just have to let go. Specifying what brand of underwear your bridesmaids must sport on your wedding day won't win you any friends, as one bridezilla found to her cost when one of her ludicrously demanding e-mails went astray and ended up in inboxes from New York to Hong Kong.

And let's not forget the weather. Rain, shine, snow, hail, there's absolutely nothing you can do about it, so you're better off just going with the flow - quite literally if the nearest river breaks its banks. Maybe in years to come we might be able to pay enormous sums to have Russian meteorologists blast those rain clouds to guarantee blue skies and uninterrupted sunshine on our special day - perhaps with a whisper of a breeze thrown in for good measure? - but until that day comes we're stuck with unpredictable rain storms, flash floods and unseasonable blizzards.

In fact, some of the best weddings I have been to have featured the kind of weather that Thor himself might have invoked. Mud baths around the Portaloos; rain drumming so hard on the marquee canvas that guests couldn't hear the speeches; satin kitten heels hastily kicked off in favour of green wellies - I've been there, done that, bought the pacamac. But, there was something peculiarly jolly and Blitz-spirity about defying the elements and seeing the bride hitch up her dress and splash about in a puddle like a little white duck. This is Blighty, after all: you pays your money, you takes your chances. If you want guaranteed sunshine, try Hawaii.

What I'm saying is that it's better to be philosophical about the vagaries of the weather than to second-guess it and stress yourself out in the process - like the bride who spent thousands of pounds on white umbrellas for all her guests just on the off-chance that it might rain on "her day". Turned out the weather was glorious, so I can only imagine that she has a very packed hall cupboard. See, that's the beauty of British weather - it keeps you guessing right up until the end.