Read My Story

I'm a celebrant, storyteller, people-person, former bar manager, former registrar, and someone who has never quite lost her fascination with people's lives, loves, adventures, and wonderfully unexpected stories.

Looking back, I don't think my career has ever really been about jobs.

It's always been about people.

Long before celebrancy came along, I was the child helping out with St John's Ambulance at local gymkhanas, the teenager delivering newspapers to fund a weekly windsurfing habit, and the slightly nerdy Classical Studies student who became fascinated by how people make meaning, build communities, fall in love, navigate loss, celebrate milestones, and tell stories about themselves.

Because that's what has always interested me most.

People.

Not the polished version.

The real version.

The gloriously human version.

The wonderfully complicated version.

The version that laughs too loudly, cries unexpectedly, gets things wrong, occasionally makes brilliant decisions, occasionally makes terrible ones, and somehow muddles through regardless.

At heart I've always been a bit of an anthropologist. I've spent most of my life fascinated by what makes people tick, why communities form, how traditions evolve, and the stories we tell ourselves about who we are.

As it turns out, that's not a bad foundation for a celebrant.

The Real Me

One thing people often discover when they meet me is that I'm surprisingly difficult to put into a box.

Which suits me just fine.

I've never been particularly interested in boxes anyway.

I love folklore and mythology.

I love nature.

I love symbolism.

I love meaningful rituals.

I love old traditions and the stories behind them.

I also own more than one pair of Converse.

I appreciate a good pair of Dr. Martens.

I love a good party.

I love a good night in cwtched on the sofa.

I still have gig outfits in wardrobes.

There is absolutely a Dungeons & Dragons cosplay lurking somewhere in the house.

And my music taste appears to be the result of several entirely different people sharing one Spotify account.

Music, Stories, and Other Important Things

Music has been part of my life for as long as I can remember.

I sang in a church choir, learned to play the piano from the age of eleven, woke up to Luciano Pavarotti blasting from my parents' stereo system every weekend until I moved out, and spent many years involved in bell ringing — both the big bells in the church tower and the little ones gathered around a table.

I've worked in live music venues, stood in muddy festival fields, lost my voice at gigs, and spent countless hours discovering new artists and rediscovering old favourites.

These days I'm a little more selective about surviving on four hours' sleep and a questionable festival breakfast, but I still love live performance.

More often than not, you'll find me supporting grassroots musicians and DJs, popping along to local events, or happily wandering around a fringe festival somewhere.

One day my playlist might be classical music, folk, or a film score.

The next it could be punk, rock, metal, musical theatre, or a rave anthem.

At this point I've simply accepted that my playlist reflects my personality.

A little eclectic.

Occasionally chaotic.

And impossible to categorise neatly.

There's just something magical about people gathering together to share stories, music, creativity, and connection.

Perhaps that's why celebrancy feels so much like home

The Pub Years

That world shaped me.

From the age of eighteen until my early thirties, pubs, bars, and live music venues were a huge part of my life.

Not just because I worked in them.

Because I lived alongside the communities that gathered there.

Those spaces were where friendships were forged, milestones were celebrated, stories were shared, and life happened in all its messy, wonderful glory.

I worked everywhere from live music venues and biker bars to community pubs before joining a brewery, and working my way into a General Manager role.

Anyone who worked in hospitality in the early 2000s will know a good member of bar staff was never just a member of bar staff.

We were hosts.

Problem-solvers.

Listeners.

Unofficial counsellors.

Diplomats.

Event organisers.

Occasional referees.

And sometimes the person someone needed at the end of a very difficult day.

Those years taught me something I still carry into every ceremony.

When people feel welcome, they relax.

When they feel accepted, they open up.

And when they feel safe to be themselves, that's when the really good stories begin.

I've always loved that.

The chance to meet people exactly where they are.

Without judgement.

Without expectation.

Without asking them to fit a mould.

Because life's too short for that.

Learning to Listen

When I stepped away from pub management to spend more time with my growing family, I found myself working in domiciliary care for a short while.

Supporting elderly people and people living with disabilities in their own homes remains one of the greatest privileges of my working life.

Every client had a story.

A lifetime of memories.

A unique perspective on the world.

Some of the most moving conversations I've ever had happened at kitchen tables over coffee.

That work taught me the importance of slowing down.

Of listening properly.

Of recognising that every life contains stories worth telling.

Many of those conversations stay with me to this day.

The Registrar Years

Eventually, the universe nudged me towards becoming a registrar.

And genuinely, the experience I gained there was invaluable.

I worked alongside wonderful colleagues, met incredible couples, and had the privilege of conducting ceremonies in some truly beautiful venues.

It taught me professionalism.

Confidence.

Public speaking.

Ceremony structure.

And how to remain calm when absolutely nobody else is.

Around the same time, life was keeping me exceptionally busy elsewhere too.

I was raising two children, working as a registrar, and somewhere amongst school runs, work commitments, and trying to keep all the plates spinning, I decided that studying for a degree seemed like an entirely sensible thing to do.

Somehow, I managed to graduate with a BA (Hons) 2:1 in Classical Studies.

Looking back, I'm still not entirely sure how I found enough hours in the day.

What I do know is that I didn't do it alone.

My partner Rodney has been one of the greatest supporters of my journey.

Long before Rites and Roots existed, he was the person cheering me on from the sidelines, stepping in when life became overwhelming, and reminding me what I was capable of when I occasionally forgot myself.

He's also the person who quietly gets on with the things that make life easier.

The dishes get done.

The washing somehow finds its way on.

There's usually a coffee waiting for me in the morning.

And when I've had one of those days where I'm running on fumes and sheer determination, more often than not, he'll take over dinner too.

Those might sound like small things.

But I think love often lives in the small things.

Not just in grand gestures, but in the everyday acts of care that quietly say:

"I've got you."

Everyone deserves someone in their corner who believes in them on the days they struggle to believe in themselves.

For me, that's Rodney.

And whilst this is my story, it wouldn't feel right to tell it without acknowledging the enormous part he's played in helping me get here.

In fact, if you're reading this because you're planning a ceremony and you happen to have a Rodney of your own, then you'll probably know exactly what I mean.

The person who makes life lighter.

The person who helps carry the weight.

The person whose support shows up in a hundred little ways that nobody else sees.

If you're lucky enough to love someone like that, then I can promise you this:

I understand why you love them.

.

How Rodney Gets Me to Take a Day Off

He's also become exceptionally skilled at reminding me that rest is not, in fact, a character flaw.

Over the years he's developed an uncanny ability to spot when I'm attempting to power through life fuelled entirely by determination and coffee.

More impressively, he's worked out exactly how to distract me long enough to actually switch off.

Usually this involves some combination of anime, classic cartoons, fantasy worlds, or strategic nerd-bait.

If there's an afternoon involving The Adventures of the Gummi Bears, He-Man, a Jim Henson creation, a good documentary, a game of Scrabble, or a decent gaming session, there's a fair chance I'll be persuaded to sit still for at least a few hours.

A current favourites is a co-op campaign in Diablo III.

So yes...saving Thedas, battling the forces of Hell, or helping a band of adventurers overthrow an evil wizard all count as "taking a break."

Why Life's Moments Matter

Life has taught me many things over the years, but perhaps the most important is this:

Every life is precious.

Like most people, I've experienced joy, loss, change, heartbreak, laughter, grief, and those moments that arrive unexpectedly and alter the course of your story forever.

Those experiences have given me a profound appreciation for the people we love, the connections we build, and the moments we share.

They've taught me not to take life for granted.

Not to assume there will always be another chance to say the words.

Another opportunity to celebrate.

Another moment to gather together.

Because of that, I believe the milestones in our lives deserve to be honoured properly.

The moments where we stop what we're doing, gather the people we love, and acknowledge that something important is happening.

For me, celebrations aren't about extravagance.

They're about meaning.

They're about recognising the people we love and the stories we're creating together.

Because when all is said and done, the things we tend to treasure most aren't the possessions we've collected or the titles we've held.

They're the people.

The memories.

The adventures.

The laughter.

The love.

And that's exactly what deserves celebrating.

Why I Do This

The older I get, the less interested I become in the idea that people should fit neatly into categories.

We're complicated.

Contradictory.

Messy.

Funny.

Creative.

And endlessly interesting.

That's why I never expect couples or families to edit themselves around me.

So, whether your plans involve Welsh traditions, heavy metal, folklore, family rituals, Dungeons & Dragons references, a handfasting in the woods, a luxury venue, a village hall, a black wedding dress, a horse, a dog, a dragon, or an idea you've never told another celebrant because you're worried I'll think it's odd...

My response is usually:

"Brilliant. Tell me more."

Because at the heart of everything I do is one simple belief:

People deserve to be themselves.

Fully.

Joyfully.

Without apology.

And life's biggest moments deserve ceremonies that honour exactly who they are.

I've spent most of my life working where people gather.

Now I have the privilege of turning those stories into ceremonies.

And honestly?

I can't imagine doing anything else.

Alex Clare
Celebrant • Storyteller • Founder of Rites and Roots

Rooted in story. Rich in meaning. Epic love stories told well.