The First Wedding Was the Last

The Annie Files — True Stories from Behind the Scenes of Mallorca Weddings

People often ask me what it was really like being a wedding planner when the world shut down. Almost six years on, and after more than 700 weddings as a planner and celebrant, I still think about that strange year more than any other. It taught me more about this job, and about the people I do it with, than any season before or since. So this felt like the right story to begin with.

January weddings in Mallorca are something of a rarity.

So when we had one on the 3rd January 2020, we were feeling rather pleased with ourselves.

And what a lovely wedding it was.

At Son Marroig, overlooking the Mediterranean, I conducted a beautiful ceremony. I remember reading a poem and looking up from the final line to find the bride crying, the groom crying, Mum and Dad crying, and practically everyone else smiling through their tears.

I’d clearly done my job.

I was so delighted that I went straight onto social media to announce our first wedding of the season.

“First wedding of the season done!”

I even finished the post with a little piece of advice:

“Laugh a little, smile a lot and shed tears of joy!”

Well, we certainly had no idea how many tears 2020 had in store for us.

Because that first wedding of the season turned out to be our last full-scale wedding of the year.

Thirty weddings. And suddenly, no weddings.

Within weeks, the world had turned upside down.

Spain went into lockdown. Weddings stopped. Businesses closed. And I found myself sitting at home with my cats and a diary containing around thirty weddings that suddenly couldn’t happen as planned.

At first, we thought we’d simply postpone them.

A few weeks, perhaps a couple of months, and everything would be back to normal.

Oh, how wrong we were.

We postponed weddings.

Then we postponed the postponements.

Then we rearranged weddings we’d already rearranged, only to discover that those dates weren’t going to work either.

It became a never-ending game of musical chairs, except nobody was allowed to leave their house, there was no music, and I had thirty couples desperately hoping their weddings could somehow still go ahead.

And then there were the telephone calls.

The tears. The frustration. The disappointment.

These weren’t simply dates being moved around in a diary. They were weddings people had dreamed about, saved for and planned for months, sometimes years.

Some couples had family scattered across different countries. Others had flights and accommodation booked. Everyone wanted answers.

And I couldn’t give them any.

Nobody could.

I’d spent years being the person who could solve problems. A supplier cancelled? We’d find another. Rain forecast? We’d make a Plan B.

But this was different.

There was no Plan B for a global pandemic.

And it wasn’t just us.

Our suppliers were in exactly the same position. Venues, caterers, photographers, florists, musicians, every single one of them was watching their own diary empty in front of their eyes.

Yet they were amazing.

They moved dates without fuss, answered endless questions and worked with us, couple by couple, to find a way through. Nobody had a rule book for any of it, but everyone pulled together.

We really were all in it together, and I will never forget how kind, patient and generous they were.

My very brief career as a revolutionary

With weddings on hold and the world seemingly at a standstill, I needed something to occupy myself.

So I took up drawing.

Yes, drawing.

And, rather surprisingly, I discovered I had a bit of talent!

I spent hours drawing eyes, practising the shading, the eyelashes and all those tiny details.

And do you know what? They were actually rather good.

Admittedly, I had plenty of time on my hands. Thirty cancelled weddings will do that for you.

I even progressed to a few noses and lips, although my promising artistic career was eventually interrupted by the return of actual work.

But the hardest part of lockdown wasn’t the boredom.

My daughter had recently had a baby, and I couldn’t cuddle my granddaughter.

During the first week or so, I could at least walk to my daughter’s house and see the baby through the window.

It wasn’t quite the same as holding her, of course, but at least I could see her little face.

And then came the complete lockdown.

Nobody was going anywhere.

Not even to stand outside a window and wave at their granddaughter.

Well, I lasted as long as I could.

Eventually, the little anarchist who has always lived somewhere inside me decided she’d had quite enough.

Bugger this, I thought. I’m going to see my daughter. Nobody is going to stop me.

I was determined.

I was defiant.

I was practically a one-woman resistance movement.

I had made my decision. I was going to escape.

I opened my front door, ready to march off and reclaim my freedom.

And there, coming down the road, was a police car accompanied by several men in full hazmat suits, spraying the street.

I nearly died of fright.

I took one look.

And went straight back inside.

Door shut.

Revolution over.

I later discovered they were spraying the streets with bleach.

But at that particular moment, faced with a police car and what looked like an entire biological warfare unit, I decided perhaps the authorities could win this round.

My daring escape to freedom had lasted approximately three seconds.

And there I was, back indoors with the cats.

And probably my pencils.

From wedding planner to nurse on set

Of course, drawing eyes doesn’t pay the bills.

With weddings on hold, I had to find a way to earn a living. And this is where my previous life came to the rescue.

Before weddings, I was a nurse.

So I found myself working in the film industry here in Mallorca, as the nurse on set. My main job? COVID testing.

It was a far cry from bouquets, seating plans and first dances. Instead of checking timings with caterers, I was checking swabs.

But I had to make money somehow, and it kept me busy, kept me useful and, in its own way, kept me sane.

(Sadly, there are no photos of me in my glamorous PPE. Cameras on set were strictly off limits!)

When Maya organised a wedding

But there was another little moment during lockdown that still makes me smile.

My granddaughter Maya had obviously realised that Nanny was missing weddings.

So she decided to organise one for me.

Using Playmobil.

And when I say she organised a wedding, I mean she organised a proper wedding.

There was a bride and groom, a ceremony, guests, flowers, a reception and tables laid out for the celebrations.

Honestly, she’d thought of everything!

She even photographed the whole thing and sent me the pictures because, as she explained, I must be missing weddings.

And she was right.

I was missing them terribly.

There I was, surrounded by postponed weddings, endless telephone calls and a diary that had become practically meaningless, and my granddaughter had managed to organise an entire wedding without a single cancellation.

I looked at those little plastic people, all dressed up and enjoying themselves, and couldn’t help laughing.

Well, at least somebody was managing to organise a wedding in 2020!

But underneath the laughter, I was genuinely touched. She’d realised how much I was missing something I loved and had found her own little way of bringing it back to me.

And I think that was one of the things lockdown taught us. Sometimes the smallest gestures meant the most.

A little wedding that meant a lot

Not every wedding disappeared completely.

During the restrictions, I conducted a small ceremony for a lovely couple who worked in the yachting industry and lived here on the island.

There were only about ten people.

Ten!

Everyone sat carefully spaced apart, and we did our best to navigate the rules, which seemed to change almost as frequently as the weather.

But the couple were getting married, and that was what mattered.

It was small, simple and absolutely lovely.

After months of uncertainty, there was something wonderful about standing in front of a couple and doing what I’d always loved doing.

Marrying people.

No enormous guest list. No complicated seating plan. No grand production.

Just two people making a promise to each other, with a handful of people there to witness it.

For a little while, the world felt almost normal again.

The bride who sent me flowers

But most of my days were still spent on the telephone, trying to help couples through an incredibly difficult time.

And then, one day, completely out of the blue, a bouquet of flowers arrived.

They were from one of my brides.

I hadn’t expected them. In fact, the thought of somebody sending me flowers hadn’t even crossed my mind.

And I cried.

Properly cried.

I immediately messaged her to say thank you.

You see, I’m very good at looking after other people. It’s what I’ve spent much of my life doing.

Looking after myself? Not quite so good.

And when somebody unexpectedly does something kind for me, something that says I know you’re having a difficult time too, it touches me more deeply than I can explain.

The little handwritten card thanked me for going above and beyond during such a crazy year, and for everything I was doing to help them.

Here was a couple whose own wedding plans had been turned upside down, who had every reason to be upset and frustrated, yet they’d stopped to think about me.

Of all the things I remember about those strange months, that simple act of kindness has stayed with me.

Not the endless rearranging of dates.

Not the uncertainty.

The flowers.

And finally, weddings came back

Then, in 2021, along came a bride who was absolutely determined to get married, whatever happened.

By then, weddings had become rather complicated affairs.

There were rules about seating, rules about distancing, certificates to check and, most astonishingly of all, nobody was allowed to dance.

Imagine trying to organise a wedding where you could feed people, give them champagne and play music, but heaven forbid anyone should get up and enjoy themselves.

It was enough to make a wedding planner weep.

But this bride was determined.

She was getting married, and that was that.

And do you know what?

She had a fabulous wedding.

Our first proper wedding after all those months of cancellations, rearrangements and tears.

It wasn’t quite the wedding world we’d left behind in January 2020. There were still rules, restrictions and things we couldn’t do.

But there was a bride. There was a groom. There were people who loved them.

And there was a wedding.

A real wedding.

After everything we’d been through, I cannot tell you how wonderful that felt.

We were back.

And this time, I wasn’t going to boast about the start of the season on social media.

I’d learned my lesson.

What 2020 taught me about planning a wedding in Mallorca

Looking back, those strange months taught me a lot about what really matters when you are planning a wedding from abroad.

• Read the small print on postponement. Check what your venue and supplier contracts say about changing dates, and keep everything in writing.
• Choose suppliers who will stand by you. The ones who answered the phone, moved dates without fuss and stayed calm were worth their weight in gold.
• Keep a little flexibility. A wedding can still be wonderful with fewer guests, a different date or a smaller celebration.

If you are planning from home and wondering what to look out for, my guides to planning a wedding in Mallorca from abroad and the biggest mistakes couples make are a good place to start. And if you would like someone in your corner, that is exactly what I am here for.

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This story is part of The Annie Files, a collection of true stories, unexpected moments and occasional chaos from my years as a wedding planner and celebrant in Mallorca.

If you’re planning your own Mallorca wedding, I’d love to hear your story too. You can get in touch with me through The Mallorca Wedding Company.

Got a quick question about planning a wedding in Mallorca? See my Mallorca wedding planner quick facts and FAQs.