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Their big day happens to be on a Friday, which has been made into a public holiday, no doubt in a futile attempt to keep those pesky commoners out of the way of the royal carriages. It's so messy and inconvenient when the bourgeois are trampled by all the Queen's horses and all the Queen's men.
And I'm sure the various Commonwealth leaders and other distinguished guests (i.e. not the Beckhams) can get their 2ICs to fill in for a few hours while they take their leave. Alternatively, someone could ask the Middle East to stop blowing up our soldiers until the weekend.
The wedding brouhaha is still all very top secret. The last thing the Royals need is the Fleet Street journalists (italicised for the purpose of sarcasm) picking apart every wedding detail and creating pie graphs and flow charts to show how much money is being wasted on security and cream puffs, and which hapless Govvie estate should benefit instead.
I suppose it’s a bit presumptuous to say these journalists can understand statistics. It’s kind of a moot point anyway, because accuracy is not generally a priority for the tabloids.
Prince Charles tried to ban kitsch merchandise this time around, which is understandable considering the evidence from his own nuptials can still be found in most households throughout the Commonwealth. It doesn’t matter what the event is; mug commemoration is tacky. Charles knows this and wanted more for his boy.
Unfortunately for 'the Firm', trashy merchandisers had templates of the couple ready to go in their factories in China in preparation of a royal proposal. Although, William is rather more aesthetically pleasing than his father was on his wedding day, and Kate is fortunate that she is not getting married in the eighties, a point she will appreciate in years to come when she is asked to autograph her face on millions of platters around the nation.
It’s anyone’s guess what Kate is going to wear. Hopefully it’ll be classic, elegant and bear no resemblance whatsoever to any of Vivienne Westwood’s creations. And I hope she doesn’t fancy any Aussie designers or we’ll never hear the end of it here.
The pressure on Team Kate’s hairdresser and make-up upperer will be immense, so I'm sure there will be professional counsellors on standby for any emergencies, armed with words of wisdom, extra-strength hair spray and handfuls of kohl pencils.
The quaintly named Bucklebury in Berkshire, Kate’s hometown, has already been invaded by curious tourists and international media. Apparently the Americans have a particular fascination with Wills and Kate. The local folk in towns that breed celebrities never to cease to amaze me with their nonchalance and downright annoyance that people dare come to their village to snoop, never mind the fact their pesky visitors will likely invest back into the community.
Bleed the tourists dry, you fools! They are Americans; they don’t understand currency that isn’t American.
The Buckleburites should be excited that anyone has taken an interest in their pokey little village, which is actually quite beautiful, but won’t be for long. Although some locals aren't fussed about all the fuss.
Local pig farmer, Julian Taylor, says “it won’t bother me; the tourists aren’t going to come to see the pig farm”.
Mr Taylor makes a valid point, but I disagree. The American media have descended on Pommieland, and as soon as the find where the hell Bucklebury is on the English A-Z, they’ll be all over the pig farm like a fat kid on a cupcake.
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