Harry & Meg’s Wedding
Well first of all I owe an apology for being missing in action from my weekly column! As the perennial ‘good girl’ I do not think I have ever missed a deadline in my life.
I returned to work when my baby was just 3 weeks old. I continued writing columns and doing radio crosses on my honeymoon. But last week I took a big tumble and did something very human: I simply mucked up! I was in London and Windsor covering the royal wedding of Harry and Meghan for my radio job and I simply had a total shocker.
I was so emerged in the most magical wedding of all time. We camped out at Windsor to get a front row position (in 4 degree freezing weather on the Long Walk with hardly any provisions) armed with only my naïve dreams and the constant foul cigarette smoke from the other few tragic idiots who braved the elements as well. Then after some good old English cheesy toast for breaky and a nip of bourbon we stood in the surprisingly hot sun for 7 hours in our dirty grotty jeans to watch the couple trot past for about 6 seconds (a moment I will never forget). This is where my story should have ended. However I decided to enthusiastically celebrate their nuptials in a raucous pub called “The Prince Harry”.
I partied as if I had in fact married a prince. I also sobbed at that damn magnificent wedding with tears of pride watching little Harry finally find his own family after losing his mum when he was so young. I love Meghan’s mother but also balled every time those cameras showed her sitting stoically by herself. That’s what strong single mums (including my own) do after all. They attend family functions and work parties and life in general with grit and quiet determination and they often sit by themselves. How symbolic. I could not read Doria’s face if it was one of fear she was handing her daughter over to some strange cult or if it was just one of immense love for her baby daughter on her wedding day.
I loved every single bit of the wedding. So much. And my love for the royal family has magnified. It is swollen by the proof of the joy they spread around the world. I met plenty of negative people in London who think the Royal family are an obnoxious and obsolete waste of taxpayer’s money. I disagree. They bring stability and happiness in a world of quick fixes and short attention spans. They are the fairy tale the cynics just may need to find salvation.
But back to the actual wedding. You see the only way in and out of Windsor was by train and the lines to those trains were 3 hours long as 120 thousand of us all tried to head back to London. So being a sensible Aussie, I opted to go to the pub with my mates instead. With no sleep, a dose of dehydration, and being emotionally exhausted, the rest of my time in Windsor is a blur. I lost a shoe and a stack of cash and I think my dignity in that 36-hour window in time.
We will now forever mutter Windsor in low tones as “The Boulevard Of Broken Dreams”. A very, very fun boulevard! But I am sorry to say I missed my deadline and had to write an email of shame to my lovely editor (that’s you Candice) begging forgiveness because I had been completely overcome with ‘Meghan and Harry Fever’. It hit me hard and I still have a pretty big dose of this disease. It is in my blood and it is taking up a lot of my time as I ask myself as I drive to work the big questions including “Will we ever find out what song Elton John sang at the reception?”
Late at night in bed I find myself wondering what on earth were the words that Harry must have muttered in front of the wedding guests as he gave Meghan his mum’s aquamarine ring. And I often question if Posh Spice or Amal Clooney think of me as often as I think of them in their smashing wedding ensembles. It is one day at a time for me as I strive to return to the straight and narrow and detox myself from wedding fever. Long may you be happily married Harry and Meghan!
Credit: Scoopla - June 1, 2018