This wasn't the menopause, though, it was bridal anxiety.

I'd dreamed there had been a hitch with my wedding dress. It didn't arrive until the day of the wedding and I hastily unzipped the huge body-bag.

Inside was exactly the right dress... in exactly the wrong colour. A retina-scalding crimson affair lay inside. The only thing about it that was white was the natty nautical stripes around the hem.

In the dream, I screeched a lot, threw a massive tantrum and had to settle for a sundress from the back of my wardrobe.

I've nothing against scarlet brides, by the way. If that's your thing, fine. I've got rather sick of all the snooty arbiters of good taste having a go at poor Wayne and Colleen in recent weeks. Every single thing they did got sniggered at – and how rotten is that?

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The thing is about weddings is when it's yours, you should have exactly what YOU want, not what everyone else tells you is classy, or in fashion, or, worst of all, what they did.

And you shouldn't have to spend a second of your special day worrying that some snide guest is criticising your choices.

But anyway, back to the nightmare... I woke up convinced it was real. I hate the kind of dreams that linger long after and leave you with the nagging doubt that what you've actually had is a premonition. And it's going to come true unless you work out a way of changing destiny.

So it was with some relief that a few days later I got a letter from the wedding shop telling me my dress had arrived.

I rang up straight away and asked them to open the bag and check its contents were not crimson, strawberry, raspberry – or any other shade of red.

The assistant was actually very sweet about it. You'd be amazed how many girls have nightmares about their dress, she said, soothingly.

It would have been a tad more soothing had she not used the word 'girl'. When you're knocking on for 50 and you're planning to do the blushing bride bit in full-length ivory (or off-white, as my mother calls it) you really don't want to be reminded of the fact that 80 per cent of the women who have chosen the exact same dress are young enough to be your daughters.

Never mind doing vows in vermilion, my biggest nightmare is of looking like wedding mutton trussed as lamb.

But my hopes – not to mention my chins – were lifted when I tried my dress on.

Guess what?... It's a bit too big!

When you've spent the last five months saying no to biscuits and cake, knocked your love-hate relationship with the office chocolate machine on the head and actually started to enjoy dry Ryvita, you'll understand why needing to have your wedding dress taken in is SUCH good news.

Only a few stitches are required. But this means I won't have to wear huge, asphyxiating Bridget Jones pants beneath.

All this hold-you-in, second-skin underwear makes you look great in your clothes, but downright dreadful when you get undressed.
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