This has been melt-down week for me, that’s for sure. In usual Florence style, I haven’t listened to any of the wise words of those around me; Steve, Matt, Carla – even my wise old Mum, and I’ve tried to keep all those plates spinning in the air. It was only a matter of time before one or two of them whizzed off into the ozone, never to be seen again. The first plate to fall was the one holding the wedding dress (it would be, wouldn’t it?). I thought I’d been clever, keeping in touch with the bridal shop via email so that I had a clear record of what we’d discussed. I’d kept them in the loop with my weight loss and we’d arranged for a fitting last weekend. My mother was beside herself with excitement and insisted on coming with me, so that she could give me an ‘honest opinion’. She hadn’t seen the dress that I’d chosen up to that point as I knew she would choose me a nice big meringue number if she had her way, so I was expecting a whole bagful of criticism for the simple, flowin...