All that wedding talk can make a girl restless…

In the aftermath of the royal wedding, engaged persons formerly in no hurry begin to dream of wedding bells.

So, it's all over. The couple are happily wed, the cake(s) have been cut, the canapés eaten, toasts made and royal titles bestowed. The dress has been mulled over, critiqued until there's little more to say and there's probably already a replica winging its way to a high street store near you.

The streets of London and British expatriate enclaves around the world are now devoid of both bunting and well-wishers, with only the occasional Union Flag fluttering away in the distance. The detritus has been packed away and in the UK the jubilance of Friday's celebratory mood is fading fast, as people go back to work after the four-day holiday weekend.

But what of the aftermath? Although there have been grumblings about the cost of the wedding for taxpayers (this has been mostly spent on security), the event has, for the most part, been received positively. You only needed to tune in to watch the coverage outside Buckingham Palace at 6am last Friday (remember we're three hours ahead; my interest wouldn't have stretched to interrupting early morning slumber), to witness scenes of fervent patriotism. With the marriage of this young couple it seems that there has been a resurgence of affection for the British royal family.

For me, the wedding has also had a more immediate impact. When the engagement was announced, I was mildly interested. I mused over the fact that they really did look happy and thought little more of it. But, as the months have passed, I, like many others, have becoming increasingly interested in the details. Who knew, for example, that creating a "mood board" would help ensure the creation of the perfect wedding cake? Just how many sugared almonds would you need in order to provide party favours for 600? And would the bride wear her hair up or down?

I've been happily engaged for over a year now, and have, in all honesty, given very little thought to my own wedding. As the months have rolled by family and friends have pressed us on the subject with increasing regularity. On my last visit home, my mother cleverly bided her time, waiting until she was alone with me, having set off on a two-hour car journey, to set about interrogating me.

My answer to their well-meaning questions is invariably the same: we're both young and content with life at the moment. When the time is right to start planning, we will, and whatever happens it will be low-key. The thing is, as I sat watching the ceremony last Friday, I couldn't help but feel the hairs on my arms prickle. I'm trying to fight it, but who could fail to be entranced by the page boys and girls and an abbey filled with trees? Perhaps I'm not as low-key as I thought.

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