But this conversion to monarchism is now under threat: we are about to have a Royal Wedding. I saw my wife last night watching an hour of the most vapid, pointless shit imaginable about Wills and Kate, or whatever they are called. Geordie Greig (who he, ed) explaining that Kate helped William to relax. Howja know that, you Bagpuss faced scullion? Some gobby peroxide blonde tart saying that Kate would be herself. She will, she’ll be herself. Her own person. There’s no way she won’t be her own person. Piers Morgan explaining how Kate probably didn’t like being photographed while she was sitting on a bus, but didn’t mind it on some other occasions.
This whole business will be unendurable, and there will be no escaping from it and irrational though this may be it is likely to make me a republican again. I realise this is mean-spirited of me, and I do wish the happy couple all the best etc. It’s just, hell, you know. Months of vapid, pointless shit.
Maybe this bad mood will pass. Thing is I had intended to pleasure my wife last night but this bloody wedding programme was shoe-horned into the TV schedule and so when she said are you coming to bed I had to say yes, but not yet, because first I want to watch this programme about the National Grid, which I’ve been looking forward to all evening. And there was a row about how I would rather watch a programme about “Jesus Christ……fucking pylons”, as she put it, than have sex. And it was all the fault of the Royal Wedding. I realise you didn’t really need to know all this, apologies.