The Royal Wee

There we were at eight in the morning, perched on the sofa in our matching Wedding fezzes, Buck's Fizzes fizzing in our Fergs 'n' Andy mugs, swan baps held patriotically aloft. Fancy dress had been mooted but I couldn't find a corgi suit in time and the monkey looks a bit like Princess Margaret anyway.

Of course we were absolutely trolleyed even before the Beckhams arrived and the last thing we saw as we lapsed into unconsciousness was the grinning maw of Beatrice as she loomed like a peach Cthulhu out of the regal crowd. We missed the dress, the kisses and the car but I had an interesting dream about Mohammed Al Fayed and so it all worked out about even in the end.

Later we got out the Formal Axe and did some parading along the garden wall but the children were massing and so we came back inside and started on the Pimms. We were out of cucumber so we ad libbed with liver and we think it gave it quite an interesting tang.

After the highlights and something approximating Eton Mess we suffered the inevitable post-Wedding slump and had to take an early bath. We retired bilious but happy and the monkey fell asleep in my fez, still clutching a sticky picture of Pippa. I do love a good Royal Wedding.