Up early to take Kate to school, thought I’d check in with our London desk. The new Mrs. Windsor is just emerging from Westminster Abbey. Look, she’s wearing a dress from David’s Bridal! Love the veil. Very simple, very I’m-not-a-virgin-but-let’s-pretend-just-for-today. But what’s this? It’s CNN, and NO ONE IS TALKING. This may be a miracle. Call the Pope.
It looks like everything went well, then? It seems… OK, here comes the talking. Oh, God, Piers Morgan, lord save us. The dress is Alexander McQueen, not David’s Bridal. I guess that’s not a surprise. Some woman is going on like an idiot about it. It’s a very nice dress, to be sure. I don’t get the equestrian rig. The bride and groom are riding in an open carriage, with no driver, but drawn by a pair of horses, one of which has a rider. I’ve never seen that. What do they call that? He’s posting the trot, and everyone else is sitting it. But they’re still yakking about the dress and “pageantry.” Well, this is certainly a pageant. Shut up, Piers. Let Anderson do the talking. He’s the perfect guy for this job.
I think I’m going to have to move to the web for the details …oh, here they are. They’ll be the Baron and Baroness of Carrickfergus! Let’s sing it together, shall we? The sea is wiiiiide, and I cannot cross oooo-ver… Fortunately, we have satellites now, and we can watch live from our living rooms.
That’s a very pretty dress, but I don’t see the McQueen there. I guess it’s all in the fit and details, but it’s pretty understated for a royal wedding. No Diana here, except for maybe the tiara. Kate’s not even wearing her hair up. How long did it take her to get dressed? Half an hour, tops.
OK, a closeup of the vows. That’s a designer gown. You don’t get a bodice fit like that off the rack.
Something else I learned today: Kate’s sister is named Philippa, Pippa for short. I’ve always wondered how English girls get called Pippa. Now I know.
It looks like it was a pleasant enough affair. Very 21st century. I turned on BBC America for the last half-hour of my shift last night, and it was All Diana, All the Time. Every time I think I’ve forgotten her brother’s awful funeral speech, there he is again — a gehl who was beloved by the wehld. I’ve been on Team Camilla for a while, especially today in her sombrero hat. You can tell she’s dying for a gin and tonic.
We’ve been waiting for a new generation, and I guess it’s here. Many baby princes and princesses for you, Baron and Baroness Carrickfergus.
So what’s on the bloggage tray today?
After I die, I hope someone is around to write something like this about me. A wonderful appreciation of the unsung heroes of newsrooms — the copy editors. An early spotter of talent in our own Hank Stuever, in fact.
When Viagra came on the market, lots of people knew it would be used in ways many of us never expected, but maybe not like this.
I saw a story last night on the AP wire that said Donald Trump, swiftly approaching She-Who stage in my book, made a “profanity-laced” appearance in Vegas, to a wildly adoring audience of morons. It being AP, none of the profanities were detailed. This being Gawker, they were:
On taxing Chinese goods: “Listen you mother fuckers we’re going to tax you 25 percent.”
Sorry to end on such a vulgar note, after opening with royalty, but what can I say? I am an American.
Happy weekend, all.