O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! He chortled at the cloy – ing drivel on the Beeb

Now, let’s get one thing straight to start with. I couldn’t give a flying corgi who Billy Wales marries, shacks-up-with, shags or significant-otherses. I just hope, for her own sanity’s sake, that Katie fully realises just what she’s marrying into. Certainly Diana didn’t, and never really adjusted to the fact that the palace mafia wanted her only for a very much needed injection of fresh DNA. “Produce an heir, then produce a spare and then get your arse into the background” has generally been the lot of royal wives for centuries. A lifetime in a guilded cage restricted to small talk and smiling for the cameras, while news reporters fawn and grovel over your very bowel movements.

I digress – as usual.

What I DO and WILL object to is the amount of public money that will undoubtedly be thrown at this shindig. The father of the bride, despite cornering the market on mail order balloons and party poppers, sure as hell can’t afford it!

Cast your mind back to 1981. Tory government, country in recession, bitch of a budget and a Royal Wedding.

2010 – Tory government, country in recession, bitch of a budget and – guess what! Dave Best and Denise Royle are trundled out to ease our misery.

It would not surprise me one iota if the Boy David, on one of his evening chats with Brenda, had ordered the old girl to get the young pup up the aisle to marry his squeeze-of-nine-years.

“The country needs a tonic, Ma’am.” or, to put it another way – bread and circuses!