So who cares about the Royal Wedding?
No one, really, lets face it. OK, some people care. Prince William, Kate Middleton, their families and people who are involved in the very public ceremony. They probably care.
The rest of the people who will sleep on the streets of London, attend one of the MANY street parties and events around the country, sit quietly drinking Pimms in front of the TV, or avoid it completely by staying in bed all day, they don’t care at all really.
For that matter *I* don’t care. However I am looking forward to it. I’m looking forward to a day off, I’m looking forward to eating cupcakes and buying special edition Pimms with a flag on the label, and I’m kind of tempted to buy this T Shirt and “Retro Chick it up” with a pencil skirt and seamed stockings. I was always meant to be a Princess you know.
There are, however, a whole load of people out there determined to make me feel bad about looking forward to a party. They point out that it’s expensive, they mope about the UK’s gloomy economic outlook, they bitch about having a hereditary monarchy, they give it extra column inches moaning about the amount of column inches it’s received. They even gleefully spend their time calculating the number of weddings that end in divorce and revelling in the failure of previous Royal Weddings.
No one cares, specifically, about the Royal Wedding. Really though, what’s wrong with an excuse for a party? Especially in these “difficult economic times”. If someone can make a few extra quid selling Royal Wedding mugs plastered with a cheap transfer of William and Kates face then good on them. It’s the great British entrepreneur at work and no one MADE you buy one.
If you REALLY feel that strongly about it, I’m sure your boss won’t mind if you pop into work for a few hours on the 29th. You could get a bit of work done while it’s quiet. Or maybe you could just stay home with the curtains drawn, drink yourself into a stupor and try and drown out the sounds of all your neighbours having fun.
Why shouldn’t we all close off our streets, string them with bunting and eat Victoria Sponge cake till we’re sick on our neighbours begonias? Whatever the reason, it’s always nice to have an excuse for a party, whether that’s Christmas, Super hero Saturday or a bonus bank holiday. (hint: One of the above only exists in my house)
This isn’t about William and Kate, it’s not about whether the Monarchy are an anachronistic irrelevance in these hyper modern times in which we live and it’s not about how much it costs. It’s about having a day off, and an excuse to plan a national party.
Maybe, just maybe, we can all spend a few hours, on a sunny spring afternoon, sipping Pimms, feeling terribly British and pretending we all live in a Fairytale world where our neighbours don’t annoy us by tramping around in heels on their stripped pine floors and weddings always end with a happily ever after.
