Rings: My Bell
We sorted out the ring variable of our wedding equation a while ago now. You have to, as they take ages to come and you have to leave in some contingency in case of issues, which we did have.
After numerous visits around every single jewellery shop passed on visits to towns and shopping centres, window-licking the vast majority of all their identical collections, it was time to talk to some people. Which we did.
But sitting in a chair with some stereotypically, pre-pubescent sales assistants, telling them *exactly* what the bride wants (in the intricate detail of Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel ceiling) and ‘sort of’ what the groom wants (don’t really know but don’t want it to fall off), is, frankly, all a bit uncomfortable.
For a start, by the time we’ve had a weekend lie-in and are getting into town, they’re thinking of closing up, so there is always a background feeling that you’re being a bit rushed in your decision. Not necessarily a fault of the vendor, just your middle-class guilt at taking up all their time, potentially ruining their sales figures. Oh, how capitalism has shaped us all.
Anyway, at the wedding fair that has pretty much shaped our entire event with its stall-owners, we were given a business card by ‘Forever Wedding Rings’, a seemingly smaller organisation with a more contemporary, far less ubiquitous, range of designs.
At this point, a warning. Diamonds, however inferior in their quality, and in any situation, look *fucking* good under blue lights, so make sure when you’re looking at them in a venue or retailer, you’re not being captivated by the blue-light diamonds sirens harmoniously serenading in your ear.
What ‘Forever Wedding Rings’ offered was a personal visit to your humble abode, where literally no blue lights reside, aside from the lying ones that suggest your laptop battery has any sort of power remaining. Oh, and if we did end up ordering as a result of the wedding fayre, we’d get ten per cent off. That’s a fairly hefty chuck off diamond wedding rings, in case you’re wondering.
A visit with a sales representative was organised, and we were visited at home by Jules. Yes, Jules. Really. I have not been as suspicious of an employee’s name as much since Alan Baff signed a letter we once received from Yorkshire Water.
Trying on hundreds of different wedding rings at home is much preferable to being in a store, I can tell you. It’s much more relaxed. You’re not conscious of other people waiting around for sales assistant and they’re happy to go over things with you again and again if you’re either unsure or a bit simple.
The cost, mind, was a bit different. Obviously this is largely dictated by the price of the particular precious metal you’ve set your eyes on. Not through any lavish, money-no-object lifestyle as much as a midget’s fingers sized outside the visible spectrum of jeweller’s window rings, and a hands-on, full-time job, Mrs Dan-To-Be has a platinum, bespoke-design engagement ring. We want her wedding band to complement this, so platinum is the only real choice.
Conversely, for me, with my big, fat, sausage fingers, that amount of platinum comes to a hefty amount of precious metal.
‘There is an alternative!’ proudly proclaims Jules (or whatever his real name might be). ‘How about palladium?’
‘Say what?’ I reply, miffed.
‘Palladium,’ he repeats. ‘Not a lot of people have heard of it.’
‘Because you just made it up,’ I respond. ‘This isn’t a superhero comic – you can’t just make up new metals.’
‘No really,’ he insists. ‘All the benefits of platinum at about half the cost. All the designs are exactly the same, just the metal is cheaper.’
‘But that’s cos my finger would fall off with radioactive poisoning.’
‘That’s polonium,’ he asserts, dead-pan.
‘I did chemistry at school, you know,’ I tell him. ‘I even dropped it after six months at A-level, so I know what I’m talking about. There is no such thing as palladium on the Periodic Table.’
I see his game: making me admiringly stare at my own naked (or even missing!) finger pretending I can see my £700 ‘Emporer’s New Ring’ on it, so I look like a complete dick. No, thank you very much, I can more than manage that by myself, as it happens. [obviously Dan only writes for Staggered as opposed to reading it - a beginner's guide to precious metals - Ed]
... but, really, he needs some lessons in lighting
Now, despite Mrs Dan-To-Be’s complaints of cost, why should I get a ‘lesser’ wedding ring? This wedding is about ‘us’, not just ‘her’, so I demand an equal footing in these days of apocryphal sexual equality. Besides, she has loads of jewellery. I have none. I don’t even like wearing a watch to be honest, but only do as it gives me something to look at wondering when the working day will end. If anything, she should have the ‘lesser’ option, as she has, ironically, more options!
Jules, by the way, won a lot of respect from me, as this wasn’t his only job. He had a full-time job during the day and did this in his evenings to help pay off his student loans. He was a very nice bloke, however, and never laid on the full three-course sales spiel schmaltz that we were expecting. He was open and honest about what looked and, crucially, in my assessment of sales personnel, what *didn’t* work or looked rubbish, as well as being realistic about price bands.
Well, we ordered with these guys as, bar the made-up metal suggestions, the service was excellent and the rings were actually couriered to us within three weeks, including phone calls from them to inform us when they would be delivered and where we’d like them delivered to.
In fact, there were only two thing wrong with my ring: (1) it was the wrong size and (2) it wasn’t the design I had spent three hours deciding upon. To be fair, I didn’t notice and it was only after a second glance, that the eagle-eyed Mrs Dan-To-Be thought it looked a bit different. She does have super-powers, after all!
Anyway, to Forever’s credit, they immediately offered to take the ring back and redesign and reshape it, which was returned to us, as per order this time, in under two weeks. Beforehand, they sent me a ring-sizer to check my finger size. I’m still not sure, to be honest. Really warm, I seem to be a size bigger, really cold: a size smaller. So what do you do?
I did go with platinum in the end. When I look down at my wedding ring, I want to remember my wife, the greatest day of my life and the good times we’ve had before and since. If I looked down at Palladium, I would only remember Jimmy Tarbuck.
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