Royal Hysteria

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ccording to the BBC (the organisation whom you give £145.50 a year), 24.5 million people in the UK watched Wills and Kate's big day in its entirety and 34 million in part.

These statistics, and the concomitant national fervour, came as something of a surprise to me as before the Royal Wedding my friends and colleagues had shown (I should say feigned) as much interest in the occasion as the Alternative Vote. 'Would you watch the Royal Wedding with Auntie I asked?'  The overwhelming response was 'I couldn't care less' and 'day off work – whoop, whoop!' Not one person bellowed out 'God Save the Queen' or even offered the more moderate response of 'I'll probably watch it on telly'. Clearly a few people in my YouGov-esque poll of about 50 were either telling a few porkies, as admitting to Royalist sympathies is not uber-hip, or severely underestimated their British propensity for being a great big nosy parker.

Thankfully there are some who are not as credulous as me (well done India Knight) who suspected that the national urge to snoop, stick their beak in and pry into the lives of the rich and famous would override any trendy aloofness. Just look at the popularity of celebrity lifestyle magazines and television programmes like 'Come Dine With Me': we can't get enough of this sort of thing.

And boy oh boy did Blighty stick its beak in. Appearances were studied in microscopic detail providing Hello magazine with a decade's worth of material.  Much praise was lavished on the bottom of Pippa Middleton who apparently 'stole the show'* and caught the roving eyes of Prince Harry and the 89 year old Prince Philip – the old devil. 'Sam Cam's' decision not to wear a hat was condemned, whereas her husband's choice of a morning coat, ending the tyranny of the lounge suit favoured by his predecessor Gordon the Grey, was well received. Some people in my office even remarked upon Kate Middleton's giant hands, which I have to say escaped me.

What did not escape a simple member of bitchy Britannia, however, is the fact that Prince William has become rather thin on top. Poor old William. It would be unfortunate for him if he revived the royal nickname 'the Bald' given to his Holy Roman Empire ancestor Charles. Still, I guess 'the Bald' is better than 'the Fat' (Charles again) or 'the Unready' (Ethelred). It's clearly not as good as 'the Great' (Alfred) or 'Forkbeard' (Sweyn) though.

The comments and observations were not just confined to the readers of Hello magazine with Newsnight Review's team of Kirsty Wark, Simon Schama, Will Self and Rowan Pelling (Rowan was juxtaposing in bunting and Converse trainers) offering an in depth deconstruction of the event.  Simon Schama's excitement at the Royal Wedding cementing the bond between the British populace and the monarchy (or something of the sort) with his swirling head threatening to detach itself was a wonder to behold. However, my favourite part of the deconstruction was Will Self's determination to spoil the fun with his Republican sympathies. Despite his intellectual ballast, I've always thought of Self, at least in the media arena, as a contrarian mischief maker rather than a serious figure: the little shit at children's birthday parties who reveals to his innocent infant cohort that the magic man has a rabbit down his trousers and that Mr Punch is a wife beater.

As I do not wish to be perceived as someone who believes that he is far above the petty concerns of Blighty, I suppose that I had better wade in with my four penneth too. Here goes...... any event that forces Bob Crow into work must be a good thing.

* This is one of the most idiotic things that I've ever heard.