My taste in jewellery is quite particular. There is so much jewellery out there that I detest, so finding something that I do actually like is a challenge. So this is why, on 25th August 2012 (the day after my 25th birthday), Nick proposed to me with a Haribo ring. He knew that I wanted to choose my own engagement ring, and I also don’t think he would’ve wanted that task entirely on his shoulders!
I was convinced that I wanted a vintage ring (I had my eye on quite a few of these: Berganza from the UK, which were rather out of our price range!). I’m a sucker for antiques, and a bit of a flea market addict. Luckily we lived in Brighton at the time, which is a plethora of antique jewellery shops.
I remember the day well; it was raining A LOT! We’d started in Churchill Square Shopping Centre, as had gone for a quick lunch. I saw a beautiful ring in the window of one of the older jewellery shops in the shopping centre, but it looked way out of our price bracket, so we headed off to the “Posh” Laines.
We trekked around for over three hours in the rain; Nick trying not to look too bored by the task (shopping isn’t his favourite activity), and me bouncing with excited energy, despite being 5 months pregnant with Busby.
We looked in the window of every shop: I came across a few rings I liked, so we went in, tried them on, nothing screamed “I’m the one ring to rule them all” so we left. I didn’t want to admit defeat. I wanted my ring. I wanted it there and then. We were going to find it that day. I was convinced.
After three (and a bit) hours, I suggested we head back to Churchill Square. I knew the first ring in the window of the shop we passed would be too expensive, but I thought I’d try it on anyway, and you never know, we might be able to strike a deal. No deal was done. It was extortionately expensive (that would be all of the diamonds).
Just as I was about to breakdown in hormonal, frustrated tears, Nick suggested we go into one of the other jewellery shops in the centre.
“But I want a vintage ring” I said sadly.
“Let’s just have a look”, said Nick, “Then we’ll go home and try Lewes at the weekend”.
I resignedly walked into H Samuel, and made my way around the counter. That’s when I saw it.
An ice blue aquamarine, surrounded by a ring of tiny diamonds on a white gold band.
I asked to try it on.
It hadn’t been on my finger for more than 3 seconds before I exclaimed: “Yes! Yes! This is the ring! THIS is the ring! We’ll take it!”
Nick wasn’t quite sure what had just happened.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes! Definitely!” I cried. “I never want to take it off!”
The ring had to be resized, which took almost two weeks. I’m not a patient person, and I even had a countdown in my work calendar until the day when my ring and I would be reunited. But the day finally arrived, and that evening Nick re-proposed:
“Hannah, will you marry me?”
“Wouldn’t it be funny if I said ‘no’ this time?” I giggled.
“No, not really. Do you not want the ring?” Nick asked.
“Of course I’ll marry you! Now gimme my ring!”
(You can read the original proposal story here!)