Everything standing between a couple and a quote: fees, minimums, appointments and deposits.
Everyone tells you to ask. The businesses that answer in public answer with a ladder of dates, and the ladder is what you are signing.
Two words on an amenity list are not a plan. A wedding is a car park, a lawn, a chair, a toilet and a dance floor, and the page worth trusting is the one that tells you which part of it a guest cannot reach.
The line about accommodation reads like a facility, filed in with the parking and the dance floor. It is not one. It is a decision about who gets a bed and who drives home, and nobody at the venue can make it for you.
It is easy to get a venue to say it caters for every dietary requirement. It is much harder to get it in writing, against a dish.
You are booking a second room. Nobody has shown it to you.
Every floor plan is a theory of what a wedding is for.
You spent nine months choosing a room and never once listened to it.
A room quoted before anybody knows your date is a number that will be wrong. That is a good reason to publish a range. It has never been a reason to publish nothing.
The empty warehouse is cheaper than the all-inclusive venue right up until you price the chairs.
Asking eighty people to buy a flight is a decision you make on their behalf and they pay for.
Cut the flowers, argue about the bar, hunt a cheaper photographer. None of it moves the number the way twenty names do.
Twenty guests is easy to host. It is hard to buy, because most of the rooms you will look at were built and priced for a crowd.
