Don’t know about you, but my preparations are afoot for Friday morning’s historic wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton. The blood pudding is congealing, the cream is clotting, and the kippers are pickling. I’ll probably go wild and have a second helping of boiled kidneys, but how often does a royal wedding come ‘round, guvner?
If many Americans – and a surprising number of Brits – are less than enthralled with William and Kate’s nuptials, that speaks well of the royal couple. They seem so utterly comfortable with each other – they’ve been dating for nine freaking years, after all – that there’s scarcely a hint of discord, scandal or imminent tragedy. That’s nice for them, but what about the tabloid readers? Don’t we deserve to be happy, too?
I predict that William’s brother, the ginger scamp Harry, won’t disappoint. He seems primed for serial affairs with litigious supermodels; a couple of stints in rehab; and at least one financial fiasco involving a fleet of sailboats sold to an Arab potentate. In short, he’s an American-style British royal.
He’ll finally redeem himself with a Bachelor-like reality show where he searches for the right woman to settle down with. It’ll be called either Royal Opportunity or Next in Line, Last in Love. Time will prove me right on this.