… it’s over, let it go!
I watched the Royal Wedding on television yesterday, the plighting of the troth between our very own funster and man-about-town, Prince Harry, sixth in line to the British crown and much beloved grandson of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II; and Meghan Markle, the Markle Sparkle, treasured daughter of Mum ex-Markle and Dad Markle and now a member of “The Firm”. What a spectacle, what a ceremony, all that pomp and circumstance. Where should I start?
With the bride, of course. I, along with millions of others, gasped as she stepped out of her carriage and revealed the dress; shocking pink in colour, very short hemline, plunging neckline and definitely not from Marks and Spencer (or Markle and Sparkle as the company now prefers to be known). The deep magenta-dominating pink colour set off her dark complexion and gleaming pure white teeth which were much on display as she smiled… and smiled… and smiled. I looked in shock and awe at the courageous audacity of her outfit. She presented as every bit the duchess she’s become (how proud the people of Sussex must be) and one of my fellow viewers, a seasoned lounge lizard, could only say, “Phwoar!” For someone who until recently was a bit player in an American legal drama series called Suits, the girl from Los Angeles has come a long way, literally and metaphorically. Some are even saying she is destined to become “The People’s Duchess”, echoing “The People’s Princess” soubriquet awarded to her husband’s deceased mother. Either way, she looked stunning, a fitting bride for a royal prince with lots of money, a privileged position in society, a generous grandmother, and a celebrity father and brother, both of whom will one day be King, “by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of His other Realms and Territories King, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith”.
And what of Harry? Looking like the cat got the cream, he was resplendent in his British Army multi-terrain-pattern camouflage uniform which, we learned, he’d kept for his wedding day following his 2012 tour of duty in Afghanistan. He also looked much younger than his bride, caused not only by the fact that he is actually three years younger but also because he had chosen to shave off his beard. Gone was the 2-week grade 4mm ginger starter stubble. Back has come the boyish, even rakish, look that made him appear considerably younger than his almost middle-aged bride. He looks like a toy boy, I thought, but I’m sure Meghan sees past this youthful image.
The Queen, of course, looked every bit the head of the family, comfortably dressed in her favourite cream twinset with matching pearls, offset by her cute ruby red beret perched saucily at an angle on her head, and Ann Demeulemeester leather ankle boots, royal blue in colour. Her top-to-bottom red-white-and-blue theme did not go unnoticed by the hordes of photographers present in the church. She looked like a walking embodiment of the Union Jack.
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Meghan’s mother, Daria, ex-Markle now Ragland, sat next to the Queen, mostly in the classic baddha konasana yoga pose but occasionally switching to the couch potato pose when nobody was looking. But, what did she whisper to the Queen when, in front of her at the altar, Meghan bent down straight-legged to pick up the ring when Harry dropped it? Whatever Daria said caused the Queen to roar with laughter! Seemingly, Daria, soon to become a British Royal by proxy in the United States, is well known for her free-spirited approach to life and is rumoured to be starting a new business venture which she may reveal when she appears on the Oprah Winfrey show later this year. I’m guessing party supplies and decorations by mail order.
Prince Philip, now showing his 96 years and walking with a slight limp after his recent hip replacement operation, seemed slightly bemused by the ceremonial comings and goings. I sensed he was a little disappointed that all the bridesmaids were too young to ogle but his eyes lit up when Meghan bent over. That Greek blood is still coursing through his veins, I noted.
But, the biggest surprise of the day was the appearance of Meghan’s father, Thomas. The paparazzi had no idea he was on Friday night’s red-eye flight to Heathrow from San Diego, the closest international airport to his home in Rosarita Beach in Mexico. Just a few eagle-eyed photographers recognised the tall well-built bearded man who strolled out through customs already wearing his top hat and tails (he changed in the aircraft’s toilet 30 minutes before landing we were told), hailed a “cab”, as he called it, said, ”Take me to Windsor”, and arrived just in time to walk his daughter down the aisle. At the end of the ceremony, he made a short speech in which he welcomed his new son-in-law into the disjointed but still loving Markle family and presented the happy couple with some gifts; a few photographs which were discreetly concealed in a brown paper envelope, and a signed proof copy of a book which he said had been written by Meghan’s half-sister, Samantha. In a brief moment of indiscretion, the title of the book was revealed to the television cameras – The Diary of Princess Pushy’s Sister. I didn’t know that Princess Michael of Kent, aka Princess Pushy, had a sister but I’m sure the book will become a best seller.
(Update. It seems that this book is not about Princess Michael at all and, to save further confusion and embarrassment to the lovely Princess Michael, the title has been changed to A Tale of Two Sisters. The publication date has yet to be announced but it has been confirmed that the book will be closely followed by a movie (with Bette Davis and Joan Crawford lookalikes in the leading roles), a video game, a board game, a 2,000-piece jigsaw puzzle, and a raft of supporting merchandise such as drinking mugs, T-shirts and a perfume packaged in two bottles labelled Sweet and Sour.)
Among the guests, I caught sight of other members of the Royal Family: Harry’s tree-loving father, Charles, accompanied by his queen-in-waiting wife, Camilla; Harry’s brother and best man, William, and his elegant wife, Kate, showing no signs of having borne three children in four years; and most of the other Royals including the alternative Queen of England, Elton John. I noted also the royals of Hollywood: the Beckhams, the Clooneys, Tom Hardy, Oprah Winfrey and with a nod to Meghan’s distant maternal ancestors, Idris Elba. But where were her friends from childhood, or from the television series, Suits? Did she not have any BFFs? And what about Theresa May and Jeremy Corbyn? Barack Obama? Donald Trump? And I bet Tony Blair was sitting at home, sulking, wondering where he went wrong! I knew his disastrous incursions into Iraq would come back to haunt him one day. Yesterday was that day. Oh, how Cherie must have chewed his ears off!
Well, I wish the happy couple all the best with their marriage and I trust they enjoy their 4-week all-expenses-paid honeymoon in Majon, a vibrant seaside resort in North Korea. Kim Jong-un’s magnanimous gesture has not gone unnoticed by the politicians and pundits here in the West. He’s certainly racked up his Brownie points!
That was the wedding, that was
It’s over, let it go.
No more dissension;
No more the wait,
No more bullsh*t,
No more speculate.
Let them live their lives in peace,
Free from family arguments.
Let us live our lives in peace,
Free from all this Royal torment.
♭ ♪ ♫
Footnote. In the interests of probity, veracity, come cleanity, and the removal of mendacity, I would like to state that none of the above actually happened. My review is a work of fiction. I did not watch the Royal Wedding. But, my God, what a day it would have been if the events I’ve written about had occurred?