Love, Laughter, and a Rogue Cow: Abbie & James’s Epic Runa Farm Wedding

By John Alderson, September 25, 2025

Picture this: a perfect September day in the North East, with sunshine so bright it’s practically showing off, and a wedding at Runa Farm in County Durham that’s about to go down in history. When Abbie and James booked me to shoot their big day, I thought, “Brilliant, another chance to capture love in all its glory.” What I didn’t expect was a wedding crasher in the form of an inflatable cow. Yep, you read that right. Grab a cuppa, because this tale of love, laughs, and one very moo-ving moment is a belter.

Bridal Prep: Where Nerves Meet Hairspray

I rocked up to Runa Farm at the crack of dawn—okay, maybe not that early, but early enough to beat the North East traffic (which, let’s be honest, is just a tractor on the B road). Runa’s Farmhouse, where Abbie was getting ready, is the kind of place that makes photographers do a happy dance. Big windows, buckets of natural light, and a vibe that screams, “This is where magic happens.” Abbie and her bridesmaids—Philipa, Shannon, Kai, Victoria, and Amelia—were in full prep mode. It was like a scene from a rom-com: giggles, last-minute jitters, and enough hairspray to hold up the Tyne Bridge. The makeup artist and hairstylist were proper wizards, turning the room into a glam factory.

I was snapping away, catching Abbie laughing as Philipa strolled around without a care in the world. Then there was this quiet moment when Victoria gazed at her sister with pure love—cue me trying not to get all misty-eyed behind the lens. These candid bits are my bread and butter. A 2024 Hitched survey says 78% of brides reckon their morning prep is the second-best bit of the day, just behind the ceremony. I get it—there’s something electric about those pre-wedding butterflies, and my job’s to bottle that buzz.

The Lads in the Gentlemen’s Bar: Banter Central

While the ladies were turning the Farmhouse into a beauty salon, James and his groomsmen—best man Lewis, plus Cameron, Luke, Ben, and Ryan—were living it up in Runa’s Gentlemen’s Bar. This place is class: dark wood, cozy vibes, and a bar that could tempt a teetotaler. I popped in to find the lads clinking glasses, James looking like he was wondering if he’d remembered his vows or left them in his other suit. Lewis was already on form, firing off one-liners like a stand-up comic, while Cameron tried to top him with a story that had the whole crew howling. A 2023 YouGov poll says 65% of grooms rate “banter with mates” as their top wedding moment pre-ceremony. No surprise there—these lads were having a proper laugh.

I nabbed a few shots of James cradling his pint, his face screaming, “Blimey, I’m actually getting married!” The bar’s warm lighting made every photo pop—no Instagram filters needed, thank you very much. Then it was back to Abbie for photos of her in her wedding dress. The light pouring through those windows was a gift from the photography gods, making Abbie’s traditional wedding dress glow like she’d stepped out of a Disney film ,and let me tell you, with her veil catching the sunlight, those shots were pure chef’s kiss. Then it was onto more portraits with her bridesmaids and parents. The room was a riot of chatter as I tried to herd everyone for group shots—think cats, but with better dresses. Abbie’s mum was fussing over Abbies dress like it was the Crown Jewels, and her dad, Asi, kept dropping cryptic hints about a “surprise.” I thought he meant a fancy toast or maybe a flash mob. Oh, how wrong I was.

The Ceremony: Tears, Vows, and Confetti Chaos

As guests started trickling in, the vibe shifted from chaotic to sacred. Runa Farm’s ceremony room is a stunner—dimly lit with soft, glowy lights that make it feel like you’re in a cozy cottage, not a wedding venue. Perfect for those big, heart-melting moments. I parked myself in the corner, ready to blend in like a ninja with a Sony. A 2025 WeddingWire report says 82% of couples want a photographer who’s practically invisible during the ceremony, and that’s my jam—capturing the magic without stealing the spotlight.

Then came Abbie’s entrance. She appeared at the top of the stairs like a vision, her gown shimmering as she floated down to a symphony of “oohs” and “aahs” from the guests. James’s face? Like he’d just won the lottery and found a tenner in his pocket at the same time. I caught that look—the one that says, “I’m the luckiest lad in the North East.” Then his tears started. The ceremony was all love and tenderness, with a rose ceremony that had everyone sniffling (myself included, but don’t tell anyone). Abbie and James’s vows were so heartfelt, I swear the room got a bit dusty. Then, as they strutted back down the aisle, confetti exploded everywhere—petals flying, guests cheering, and me snapping like my life depended on it. That confetti shot? It’s going on my wall.

The Great Inflatable Cow Caper

After the ceremony, we headed to the back stairs for some formal bridal party photos. The light there is softer than a Geordie accent, perfect for group shots. Abbie, James, and their crew were absolute naturals—laughing, striking poses, making my job a doddle. Then we moved outside for some fun group photos, and that’s when things got gloriously weird.

We were mid-shoot—bridesmaids holding onto bouquets, groomsmen joking with James—when a cow sauntered into the frame. Not a real one, mind you. It was Abbie’s dad, Asi, prancing across the courtyard in a full-on inflatable cow costume, udder and all, looking like he’d escaped from a panto. The wedding party lost it. Guests were doubled over, kids were shrieking, and I nearly dropped my camera from laughing so hard. Asi, the absolute legend, struck a pose like he was on the cover of Farmer’s Weekly, and I snapped the shot of the century: Abbie and James grinning, surrounded by their mates, with a giant inflatable cow stealing the show. A 2024 Bridebook survey says 45% of UK couples now chuck in “surprise elements” like flash mobs or, apparently, rogue livestock. This was next-level.

I mean, come on—when does a wedding photographer get to say, “Hold that pose, but watch out for the inflatable cow”? It’s why I love my documentary-style approach. No stiff portraits here, just pure, bonkers joy. That cow pic is going straight into their online album, and I’m betting it’ll be the one they’re still laughing about at their 50th anniversary.

Food and Speeches: Runa’s Finest Hour

After the cow-tastrophe (sorry, I’m not sorry), the guests piled into Runa Farm’s dining room, and I took a breather to refuel. Let’s talk about Runa’s food for a sec—it’s not just good, it’s “sell your nan’s heirlooms for another plate” good. As a photographer, I’m usually running on fumes, so a serving of their melt-in-your-mouth meatballs and perfectly prepared spagetti an a stunning spicy sauce was basically a hug in food form. I chatted with a few guests, all still banging on about Asi’s cow stunt. It was the talk of the town.

Then came the speeches, and oh boy, did they deliver. Asi went first, still smirking from his barnyard cameo. His speech was a short one. He wisely skipped mentioning the cow, probably saving that for the pub. James followed with a speech that was half rom-com, half pure love, thanking Abbie for making him “the happiest man alive.” Then Lewis, the best man, brought the house down with a roast that could’ve sold out the O2. Tales of James’s and Lewis’ long friendship and their unknown family relationship had everyone in bits. I weaved through the room, snapping Abbie’s blush, James’s fake outrage, and the guests’ belly laughs. A 2023 OneFabDay study says 70% of couples rate speeches as a top moment, and this lot proved why—it was raw, real, and hilarious.

The Wildest Wedding Party ever: Abbie and James’ Cowboy Chaos Extravaganza

Weddings are supposed to be elegant affairs, right? White dresses, tearful vows, a bit of cake, and some polite clapping. Well, someone forgot to tell Abbie and James that, because their wedding day was less "refined romance" and more "yee-haw, hold-my-beer" pandemonium. I’ve been to my fair share of weddings, but this party? This was the kind of party that makes you question whether you’ve accidentally stumbled into a Hollywood blockbuster directed by a caffeinated cowboy. Buckle up, folks, because I’m about to take you through the wildest wedding reception I’ve ever witnessed, complete with a dropped bride, a line-dancing mob, and a DJ who probably deserves a medal for keeping up with the chaos.

After a beautiful ceremony and a wedding breakfast that had everyone stuffed to the gills, there was a brief lull—what I like to call the "calm before the storm." This was the traditional quiet time when guests check into their rooms, sip on lukewarm tea, and pretend they’re not already regretting their choice of heels. I was lulled into a false sense of security, thinking this would be a standard wedding with a few toasts and some awkward small talk. Oh, how wrong I was. This quiet patch was like the moment in a Western when the saloon goes silent before a brawl breaks out. And trust me, the brawl was coming.

At 6:30 p.m., the energy shifted. The reception room was packed to the rafters, and the air buzzed with anticipation. Abbie and James, the radiant bride and groom, made their grand entrance to cut the cake. The crowd erupted into applause so loud it could’ve woken up a coma patient. The cake itself was a towering masterpiece—think less "delicate wedding confection" and more "architectural marvel that could withstand a small earthquake." As Abbie and James sliced into it, the room cheered like they’d just scored the winning goal in the World Cup. I half-expected someone to start chanting, “One more slice! One more slice!” But before I could grab a fork and dive into the buttercream myself, the real show began.

Cue the first dance. Now, most couples go for a safe sway to some Ed Sheeran ballad, but not Abbie and James. Oh no. These two had clearly been sneaking off to a dance class for months, because what followed was a choreographed spectacle that would’ve made Strictly Come Dancing look like a school talent show. Spins! Throws! Dips! The crowd was eating it up, gasping and clapping with every twirl. But then, in a moment that will live in infamy, James went for the big move—a high-flying toss that was supposed to end with Abbie landing gracefully in his arms. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. Mid-toss, Abbie plummeted like a sack of potatoes, only for James to catch her at the last second, saving her from becoming a viral TikTok fail. The room collectively held its breath, then burst into laughter and cheers. Abbie, to her credit, just grinned, dusted herself off, and carried on like a pro. The rest of the dance? Flawless. Spins, dips, and all, they nailed it, and the guests were screaming like they’d just witnessed Beyoncé perform at a village hall.

But if I thought that was the peak of the evening, I was gravely mistaken. Because what came next was the moment this wedding went from “memorable” to “what in the actual heck is happening?” During that so-called quiet time, every guest had apparently conspired to transform into a cowboy or cowgirl. I’m talking Stetsons, plaid shirts, bolo ties, and boots that looked like they’d been stolen from a rodeo. I blinked, and suddenly I was in the middle of a Wild West reenactment. Before I could process this sartorial plot twist, a traditional line-dance band—yes, an actual band with squeezeboxes and fiddles—stormed the stage. A guy with a voice like he’d gargled whiskey grabbed the mic and started barking instructions: “Step to the right! Kick! Turn! Now clap, y’all!”

What followed was two hours of pure, unadulterated chaos. Picture 60 guests, from tipsy Aunts to the groom’s mates, trying to line dance in unison. It was like watching a herd of caffeinated cattle attempt choreography. People were stepping on toes, bumping into each other, and shouting “Which way’s left?!” while the band cranked the volume to ear-splitting levels. The dance floor was a sea of flailing limbs and cowboy hats, with one poor guest getting so into it he nearly yeeted himself into the cake table, and at one point, someone’s boot flew off and narrowly missed the best man’s head. It was glorious. I tried to join in, but after accidentally kicking someone in the shins during a particularly enthusiastic “dosey doe,” I decided to stick to spectating.

Just when I thought the night couldn’t get any wilder, the line-dance band wrapped up their set, and DJ Carl took over. This man didn’t ease us into things. Oh no. He kicked off with a banging floor-filler that had the father of the bride and Abbie tearing up the dance floor like they were auditioning for Disco Dance 2025. The rest of the guests didn’t even have time to catch their breath before they flooded the floor, turning it into a sweaty, joyous mosh pit. I saw a groomsman attempting to moonwalk in cowboy boots, bridesmaids inventing some kind of TikTok dance that looked like a cross between a seizure and interpretive dance. DJ Carl was a wizard, seamlessly blending ABBA with Beyoncé, throwing in some classic 90s bangers, and somehow keeping the energy at fever pitch. I’m convinced he was secretly mainlining Red Bull behind the decks.

By 9 p.m., I was ready to collapse into a heap of glitter and exhaustion, but the party showed no signs of slowing down. The guests spilled outside for a quick sparkler shot, waving their fiery sticks like they were casting spells at Hogwarts. The resulting photos probably looked like a mix of magical chaos and a fire hazard waiting to happen. I, however, had reached my limit. My feet ached, my brain was a muddled mess of cowboy choreography and cake crumbs, and I was grinning like an idiot. As I stumbled to my car, the sounds of laughter and thumping bass followed me into the night. Abbie and James’ wedding wasn’t just a party—it was a full-blown, boot-scootin’, sparkler-waving, bride-dropping extravaganza that I’ll be talking about until I’m old and gray. If this is what their marriage is going to be like, I’m booking my spot at their vow renewal now. Yee-haw!