Saturday, 16 April 2011


Feeling ill. One of those things where your whole body aches, you feel sick and you can't sleep, even though your eyelids are continuously on the point of closing.

It's 17 degrees outside, my (double-glazed) windows are closed, and the heating's still on full throttle. I've just been lying in bed under two duvets (that's not a euphemism for two Italian painters and decorators - why aren't you following me on Twitter, FGS???) and I'm cold. Even my stuffed dog looks sorry for me.

Mind you, perhaps the reason I can't sleep is down to a typical Saturday afternoon in Nice.

The woman upstairs is playing some jolly, bland (and jolly bland) plink plink plink plink pop song very loudly, the pompiers are hurtling around, sirens belting out the usual siren sound, and assorted cars are driving slowly along the streets of my neighbourhood, car horns BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEPING as is customary at the weekends.

Manchester United fans?  Manchester City fans? Exasperated drivers in north London stuck in jams trying to get to see the FA Cup semi-final?


These beeping cars (meant literally, but please feel free to substitute a swearword of your own choosing) constitute a wedding party.

Wills and Kate, take note.

For here in Nice, brides - having enveloped themselves in acres of bright white polyester satin (the fabric, if laid out end to end, would undoubtedly cover the Alpes-Maritimes; twice), and caked their faces in make-up so orange, Judith Chalmers would look like a veritable Goth standing next to them - climb into the back of open top cars to be driven around town for hours so they can wave at Saturday shoppers struggling with their heavy Saturday shopping, yell at startled passers-by, and look the smuggest they're ever going to look. I was on a tram once, with such a wedding car following behind us, wheels astride the tram lines. Sweet, how the vehicle duly waited at all the tram stops, presumably to see if any other orange brides needed a lift. 

Don't you think a tour of London in this way would endear the future king and his wife to their future subjects? Prince Phillip does that carriage driving stuff, I'm sure he wouldn't mind taking the wheel of a resprayed Renault 5, banging his fist on the horn several times a second. It would give the Queen time to nip back to the Palace to make sure the Cheesy Wotsits were laid out strictly according to royal etiquette. And it wouldn't cost much either - Kate's parents would, I'm certain on this occasion, donate the bunting tied to the back of the vehicle, and the silly string, and the life-size cardboard cutouts of corgis stuck on the side of the car, from their own, Party Pieces pockets. (Frilly pockets £5 extra).

Well, let me know if they take my advice.  Sadly, I'll be leaving for the airport at the very time Kate arrives at the Abbey. We already know she's turning up in a car, perhaps the Royal advisors have got wind of how to make the British monarchy just a little more relevant to the British people in this, the 21st Century.

Oh god, where's my bucket...



  1. Cover blown - so you are going back for the wedding - what a hoot !!

  2. Oh no!!! Knew I'd be found out one way or another...


Please be nice, but not funnier than me. Thanks.