While I was off being transformed into a godfather (to the most handsome young Arthur), a couple of things happened which might have taken your mind off the year’s biggest event. (I’ll give you some clues as to that event. It involved a big dog, cake, bagpipes and a same sex royal wedding that has not yet made the newspapers. Capiche?)
Things like saying goodbye to Henry…
Like saying good riddance to whatisname… Obama bin Laden isn’t it? Hey, it was on TV. Must be true.
But after all that, is he really dead? Watch this classified video (Osama bin Laden – What Really Happened) that has just been sneaked out through wikileaks. (Aka Cultural Snow.)
Anyway, it’s so hard to keep track of who’s who when celebrities look so alike these days, isn’t it.
But to put you all out of your misery and end the suspense that’s killing you….
No, it didn’t rain on our parade. The royal wedding street party drew 200+ residents and neighbours. They were welcomed by an excellent piper (the father of no.1). This brought out all the secret Scots in their kilts.
As predicted, the heaps of cucumber sandwiches were left uneaten, even by the dogs.
But the patriotic pastries and monarchical munchables were all quickly hoovered up, along with copious amounts of Rebellion. (Other beers are available. But why?)
Not content with one royal wedding, a second was staged on our street by lookalikes. OK, to call them lookalikes may be stretching things somewhat. Especially with the Archbishop of Canterbury. And our Prince William was far too attractive. And they were all girls. Aged 11 and younger. (* I’d love to include pictures of the Fake Prince and her cohorts. However, as they’re other people’s kids, I’d better not.) But at least I can now grow old happy that I’ve seen my daughter marry a prince. Maybe she’ll now forget about the royals and redirect her energies to becoming president.
We had older bridezillas, our ideologically dubious “score a royal goal”, malfunctioning trumpets, red carpet, frolicking in the fields, the most raucous open air karaoke ever and Will and Kate’s tattoo and nail parlour.
My personal highlight was having to introduce God Save The Queen, not once, but twice. To a crowd of English people. (I’ll excuse the Scots.) Not one of them was there to take the microphone themselves. Aye, leave it to the Irish bloke. You… you… you scamps.
But what could I do?
When you have a boy looking up at you expectantly, trombone in hand, there’s only one thing you can say: “Ladies and gentlemen, please be upstanding…”
Twice though? That’s taking the…
Anyway, enough royal-related business.
Next I’ll tell you about an odd woman in a flat cap.