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The Royal Wedding of Him and Her (Live Updates)

29 Apr

8.05            Welcome to my up-to-the-minute coverage of the wedding between The Duke of Cambridge, the Earl of Strathearn, Baron Carrickfergus, and the Duchess of Cambridge, Countess of Strathearn, and Baroness Carrickfergus. I love group weddings; it’s almost like the Moonies.

8.30            Did you hear the guy from Syria’s been uninvited? I’m not sure that’s any less rude than violently cracking down against weeks of pro-democracy demonstrations.

8.40            I have always felt that those who shove in queues should be beaten to death and admire the police’s decision to do so this morning.

8.44            A lot of hats, bordering on an indecent amount of hats. Some ridiculous, some I confess to finding rather fetching. I particularly like the little pink beanies some of the men are wearing. Too cute!

9.09            The chant that greeted Chelsy Davy was just not on.

9.22            David Beckham. He’s lovely.

9.30            Rowan Atkinson’s arrived, pulling a funny face. Oh wait, that’s Tara Palmer-Tomkinson.

9.43            Apparently Boris Johnson’s hair took hours doing.

9.44            Guy Richie?

9.47            Sir Elton John and David Furnish have arrived. Elton’s coiffure is attempting something but failing miserably.

9.48            I’m not sure I’ve ever seen John Major look quite so dashing. Yum-yum!

9.56             I strongly agree with the decision to sit all gingers in a separate area.

10.01            A cheer for Nick Clegg! Or perhaps for Miriam’s saucy attire—her lips match her feathers.

10.02            Ed and Vince. Vince and Ed. Little George Osborne not far behind.

10.03            Samantha Cameron looks quite pretty in a flattering jade dress, carrying an orange wrap. A shame she had to spoil it with her date.

10.14            I don’t think screams at a wedding are ever really appropriate, regardless of who is attending or how fancy pants their tour bus is.

10.16            Now, that’s one hell of a car the Princes are in.

10.18            Here come the bells.

10.19            Prince William is in the house: whoop whoop, as the kids say.

10.20           Those who think the Royals’ lives are unfairly easy should remember that tragedies like thinning hair can strike anyone. Nature is blind to pageantry.

10.22           The red coat, blue sash and gold doohickeys are alright, I guess. But I’m not keen on the red stripe down the trousers. At least he ignored Harry’s suggestion to also wear red shoes.

10.24           I wonder who was the first to say “Someone’s getting laid tonight” to Wills this morning.

10.27           I don’t care what cool cucumbers some of these posh-os think they are. You know they must be peeing themselves over all this.

10.28           I like the four matching silver mini-buses. They’re titchy, like little toy cars, carrying little toy people.

10.36           Who taught these people how to walk?

10.37            Three arrests at the street party on my road. Apparently, letting off fireworks outside an old couple’s home should have waited until after the nuptials.

10.40           I bet Tony Blair’s having a little cry. I know Barack Obama isn’t.

10.42           Beatrice and Eugenie—no, no, and no.

10.44           This must surely remind Prince Charles of his own weddings. The incredibly exciting one, plus that time the other one got canceled because the Pope up and died.

10. 48          I don’t care what people say. The Queen is still a right royal knockout and you know it. She looks like a stunning little canary. Wearing a hat. And a brooch. And carrying a handbag.

10.50           Awkward kiss between the Duke of Edinburgh and Camilla. But I suppose it would have been more upsetting if it had been natural, like something they did all the time.

10.54          Here comes the bride! I can confirm she is wearing her hair and a white dress. I really don’t know what all the fuss was about. What else would she be wearing?

10.55         Any commentator who says something about Kate’s ability to wave is first against the wall, come the revolution.

10.59          You gotta say one thing about the royals: they know how to keep to a timetable.

11.00          I’m not too proud to admit she looks pretty. But I know, in his heart of heart, Wills prefers a bustier woman.

11.04          Searches for Sarah Burton have now crashed the internet.

11.08          If this is William’s first view of his bride’s dress, I’m sure he think it’s beautiful.  Harry is thinking, “What’s up with her eyebrows?”

11.11           Oh, England, you and your hymns. I do love you so.

11.13          Marriage was ordained for the increase of mankind. Ooh, sexy.

11.14          I won’t say a word. I will forever hereafter hold my peace. Damn, Will’s not said anything either.

11.16          For richer, for poorer. Good one.

11.17          I don’t mean to seem a downer, but let’s remember that Charles and Diana said all these words as well.

11.18         Wow, he’s going to give her his troth, honour her with his body and share all his worldly goods? Jackpot!

11.20         William’s just made the biggest mistake of his life. Congratulations to the happy couple!

11.24          Grab a pew, now for the boring stuff.

11.29          To kill some time, let’s look at some new wedding-related tweets:

Halcruttenden All these beautiful people have just made me realise that the idea of monarchy is right. They’re just better than us.

mfhorne There is literally NOWHERE for Harry to have a sneaky Fatty Boombatty.

mrchrisaddison Queen has a tartan blanket over her knees in that car.

Therealdavelamb No wonder the father of the bride’s sweating, this must be costing him a fortune.

StephenAtHome At the Royal Wedding. Crap, I’m wearing the same thing as Camilla.

RufusHound They need to hurry it along, the photographer has another wedding to do at 12

RobinCooperEsq Don’t forget tomorrow is the royal wedding everybody

11.39         Oh boy, they composed their own prayer. Nicely written—concise yet ultimately meaningless, as all good prayers should be.

11.37         Those little boys have no idea that this will be the last greatest moment of their lives.

11.46         I like the idea of marriage as “such an exquisite mystery.” Sounds so much better than “the beginning of the end.”

11.47         Oh, “Jerusalem,” you bring me such joy. There is nothing better than you. Except maybe marrying Prince William. But alas, it wasn’t meant to be. So I rejoice at the song of England’s green and pleasant land.

11.52        What goes through Charles’s head when he hears “God Save Our Gracious Queen”? And I don’t know about you, but it seems weird that Prince Philip sings it as well. Man, she must really hold that over him at times.

11.56         I thought it was supposed to rain today. Wow, they really do have God looking after them.

12.10        Yes, put the gloves on. One mustn’t wave to paupers without wearing gloves.

12.13        The wedding ceremony ends as all wedding ceremonies do: a bunch of old people in fancy dress struggling to get into horse-drawn carriages. We’ve all been there, done that.

12.15         The deed is done. There’s nothing more to see here. Move along and back to your regular lives.

Good-Night, Sweet Prince*

29 Apr

To William and Catherine, I wish you a wonderful day.

To the rest of us, I suggest:

*Yes, this does imply he’s now dead to me.

Shrove Tuesday

8 Mar

Happy Pancake Day!

I’ve always been a fan of breakfast-for-dinner (I can’t help it, I’m just crazy like that), but I must confess that when I hear the word pancake, the American in me thinks of this:

Sue me if you feel like grumbling about it. But remember, some Americans actually eat these.

Enjoy your pancakes however fluffy they may be!

Very Good Gentlemen

7 Dec

I was going to post a rather long and thought-provoking assessment of the imminent collapse of the euro. But fuck that, did you see what happened in Adelaide?

Don't you just melt when men embrace each other publicly?

A wise man once said, “Cricket civilizes people and creates good gentlemen.” Okay, it was Robert Mugabe, but on this account, he was right. Harold Pinter once said, “I tend to think that cricket is the greatest thing that God ever created on earth—certainly greater than sex, although sex isn’t too bad either,” and he too was spot on.

A Proud Man Celebrating

A Big Baby Crying

England have won the second test of the 2010 Ashes. They won. By an innings. At one point, three wickets were taken in four deliveries.

Never have eleven men made me so happy over such a short period of time (okay, once before, but we won’t go into that). I am very proud of the lads. I only wish I could have been there to show them just how proud (and by proud, I do mean aroused) I am. I shall fall to sleep now dreaming of each and every one of them, wood in hand, showing me their talents at the crease.

An Unashamed Premature Ejaculation

3 Dec

Hurrah!

I try to keep my ejaculations appropriately timed—those who vociferate too early look over-eager and those who wait until others start cheering end up looking like sycophants.

But I’ve come over all excited by the opening of the Adelaide test!

When the first wicket fell, Christopher uttered a sudden loud cry and to be honest, I felt embarrassed for him. I’ve had experience with Australians going down quickly and they rarely bring satisfaction in the long run (which is why I no longer accept drinks from men at Walkabout). But when Ponting was out for a golden duck, I admit my face flushed and I could feel the dew on my forehead. Christopher poured me my second highball (I need the caffeine to help keep me awake), and, fuck me, if Clarke wasn’t out, caught in the slips.

Could this really be happening?

Today of all days, England needed a sporting boost. This could be it. I know it may be early  but thank you, my men in flannels, for an incredible start.

 

Christopher has now slipped into his jim-jams and curled up by the fire. But I can assure you: all night long, I’ll be awake—with bated breathe, racing pulse and slightly moistened thighs.

Brother v. Brother: It Only Works If It’s Sexy

26 Sep

I must confess I cannot be bothered to travel to Manchester for the Labour Party conference. I was slightly disappointed that I missed Gordon Brown coming on to the song “Soul Man,” if only because I’m convinced he was dancing Blues Brothers’ style to psych himself up backstage. I imagine his moves were more Elwood than Jake, but either way, that was something I was hoping to see before I die.

The main reason I have decided to stay away, though, is the whole party leadership contest, as I wanted no part of it.  I found the whole Miliband against Miliband thing quite distasteful. It’s not that I’m against a little healthy sibling rivalry. I quite like when Serena and Venus play against each other, and I frequently daydream of William and Harry oiling up and wrestling for the crown. But the two Milibands? Gross.

Of course, my interest in party politics is not limited to how it affects me in the trouser department. After the last election we learned that any of the party leaders may actually help run the country (or at least end up posing for photo ops implying that they do). So what’s the best way to decide who should be in charge? Let’s face it—none of the three parties have made very clever choices the last few goes. If I ran the world (and I still can’t get my head round the fact that I do not), to become the leader of any political party, one has to show well in the most important of all political arenas in Britain: a guest spot on Have I Got News for You. If that were the case, the decision for each party would be dead simple:

 

 

 

 

 

I’m not interested in any of these three fellows tending my lady garden, but at least they make me laugh and that’s got to count for something.

“It Is Always With the Best Intentions that the Worst Work is Done”—Oscar Wilde

30 Jul

God bless him for trying, David Cameron. I do believe he’s got the best intentions, somewhere inside that doughy head of his. But he’s got it so wrong that I almost feel a little bad for him.

Take, for instance, his “Big Society” business. According to the Telegraph:

In his first major speech on the theme of the “Big Society” since winning the election, the Prime Minister will announce the “biggest redistribution of power from elites in Whitehall to the man and woman on the street”.

Mr Cameron – who is keen to present his administration as offering optimistic new policies that are not just about cuts – will say that the “liberation” of volunteers and activists to help their own communities is the vision which drives his premiership.

As part of his drive to roll back the reach of the public sector, the Prime Minister will attack the previous Labour government for turning state employees into “disillusioned, weary puppets” and communities into “dull, soulless clones”.

Me oh my. Someone is not taking advantage of his public school education on the power of language. Big Society? I just don’t see that phrase appealing to the youth who loiter outside the leisure centre. I bet their parents wouldn’t even swallow Big Society if it were the name of a pizza which came with free garlic bread. Just listen to yourself. You’re going to liberate volunteers? Volunteers are already free—that’s the whole point.

He will announce that four areas in diverse parts of the country have been chosen to form a “vanguard” in realising his dream of “people power” in which individuals rather than the state come together voluntarily to solve their problems.

The four – the greater London borough of Sutton and Cheam, the leafy Berkshire council of Windsor and Maidenhead, rural Eden Valley in Penrith, Cumbria, and the metropolitan city of Liverpool – were chosen after they petitioned Downing Street to start their own projects.

They will be the first to be invited to submit applications to the Big Society Bank, a fund which will allocate the proceeds of dormant bank accounts worth hundreds of millions of pounds to help set up volunteer schemes to improve communities.

Combining Big Society with the word bank, well, you’re on to a real winner there to earning the public’s trust. Also, if we’ve learned nothing from the MTV Awards, we’ve learned that the word vanguard certainly doesn’t mean what it used to. And little David, people power? Really? What’s next—women’s libbers, rap sessions and hep cats? Get with the program, Prime Minister!

Communities already unite to take care of each other in many ways. The little kiddies at our church do sponsored silences to raise money for the hospital. Last month quite a large group “came together voluntarily” to vandalise Mr Willingstoke’s Bentley after he suggested Jeremy Clarkson open our village fête. We stand up for our community like that. As individuals, we also do good. Look at the help Christopher gives me out of the goodness of his heart. The old man three houses up has a volunteer nurse who comes by to look after him once a week and she’s even willing to do it in costume. Alice Wintergarden and I both read to the blind and sign to the deaf (not simultaneously); neither of us are “dull, soulless clones” (though admittedly some of those we help may be). We don’t need the government telling us how to take care of each other.

But we do need the government for some things. After all, what is the state for, Mister Cameron, if not to help the people?  Build some playing fields. Make sure there’s disabled access in the shopping precinct. Insist the local library carry all of my books, not just those published in the last ten years. Go back to weekly rubbish bin collection. These are the duties of government. These are the kinds of things the government should be doing, instead of coming up with ways for us to do them for ourselves once the budgets have been slashed.

Governments don’t give power to the people, the people give power to the government. You were elected by the people of this nation, well, you weren’t exactly elected, but the thing is you’re there now so do your job, do it right and quit being a dick.

No Witty Title Today, I’m Afraid

27 Jun

Technology is everywhere. That’s the world we live in. Some technology is morally good—it can help us find directions to little towns with delightful tea shops and allow lovely lady writers to reach out more of their devoted public. Some technology is not morally good—it is helping sad bastards to feel better about themselves when they really shouldn’t,  it is draining us of our sanity by tempting us to six hour Mah Jongg marathons, and it is destroying the pleasure of holding a book or newspaper in your hands as you read.

However, technology is here. I can’t do anything to stop it. I don’t have to fall in love with it, but it’s here and it’s changing our world.

Today’s England v Germany match would have benefited from technology. In less that a few seconds, we were all able to see that Lampard’s goal went in. In the time it takes for Ashley Cole to decide where to throw in the ball or the time it takes for a player to pretend he’s hurt long enough for the other team to kick out the ball, the refs could have been able to see that the goal had gone in. Cost is not the issue; the fact that video technology won’t be used at all levels of the game is not an issue (international teams get pussy at the drop of a hat but my Sunday league can’t even get a look in, how is FIFA addressing that inequality?). Technology would have shown the goal to be fair and who knows how keeping things fair  might have changed the match.

That said . . .

England’s performance was poor throughout. Despite the hours I’ve spent on the minds of Fergie, Arsene and yes, Jose, I am no football expert. But I do know this:

  1. There needs to be an offensive plan beyond just whacking it towards the goal and hoping that someone on the other team makes a mistake and allows it to go in.
  2. There needs to be a strong defense. Did Germany play fantastically or did they just take advantage of the space they were allowed? David James (albeit in gorgeous yellow) had to work too hard whereas the skinny version of James Corden at the other end was more protected.

While it’s true that we don’t know what might have happened had the “goal that wasn’t (but really was)” counted, it’s also true that it shouldn’t have mattered. When I set out to woo a gentleman, I am a man possessed. I know what I want and, on the few occasions I’ve taken a kicking (not literally, of course, as I do not woo that type of man), I get up and get on with the wooing.  When I really, really want a man, I go in there and get him. England did not go in and get their man today (not even Ashley). It was a poor showing all round: Johnson wasn’t fast enough, Lampard has to do something other than miss “ambitious” tries, I don’t even know what’s up with Rooney and John Terry—Hello? Did you not get the memo that you were playing in a World Cup match today?

I’m afraid I don’t have the patience to analyze this any further, to dig into the sporting, historical and cultural explanations that might make sense of this fiasco. Like the rest of you, I am too mortified and too drunk to do so reasonably at this moment. Instead we should all just concentrate on accepting it, getting to the toilet before we vomit and avoiding kicking off at the elderly German man who just happens to step into our paths as we stumble home.

A Much Relieved Match Report

23 Jun

Our moment came. England played a good game of football. It wasn’t the best game of football but it was a solid game; they played as they should have done in the first two matches.

Defoe’s goal was lovely and the tide had turned. Although we weren’t able to score another, we had some decent efforts. It was exciting and fun to watch (though it was also nerve-wracking, Christopher has bitten my nails down to the quick this afternoon). This is what the World Cup should be like.

Yesterday, Steven Gerrard said, “The fear of not winning drives you on.” Stevie, no. The desire to win drives you on. The desire to win, to be the best. We should not be motivated by any fear—fear of losing, fear of letting people down or being pilloried by the press. Have you ever seen a Will Smith film? Did he defeat the aliens because he was afraid? No. He killed them because he is one tough motherfucker; anyone messes with him and he is going to get all rowdy on their ass.  We need to stop being driving forward by fear. We need to get through the next round because we have that burning desire that fills our stands, our pubs and all too frequently our trousers but is so rarely seen on the pitch.

But today, in the end, we did it. Was it down to a coach, who successfully motivated his team, (possibly Sopranos-style)? Was it down to the players who remembered that it’s three lions they’re wearing and made it to the back of the net? Was it down to the media whose constant pressure finally paid off? Or was it down to the good old English fans, who woke this morning believing that for fuck’s sake, in a week where we’re facing the Budget, a Tube strike and the news that Jordan has doubts about remarrying Alex Reid, something good has got to happen to this country?

Thank you, boys.

Thank you, England.