Let me begin by offering my sincere congratulations on your impending marriage to young William. Your parents would have been so proud.
While it is true we have yet to receive the news that your parents have passed away (damn Royal Mail, eh?), I am assuming this must be the case since I have just heard from Mrs Hawkins at No. 22 that I am to pay for your wedding?
Not being long out of The Gibberish Generation, I know your thoughtlessness can, at best, be attributed to being in love and, at worst, to the rudeness of the young and foolish. However, I must hold you to the same high standards I hold my own children. Being, if you want something from me, please ask and don’t just help yourself.
This includes my purse strings.
Kate dear, and other young people, please hear me again. It is not always about you. Leave some room for the consideration of others, and when I say others I of course mean the folks working and funding your way through life.
Sweetheart, you can’t know this (because you didn’t ask) but on my list of commitments next month were new school shoes for Child No. 4, a new hockey stick for Child No. 3, springing bail for Child No. 2 who is still stuck at the Sundance Film Festival (best not to ask) and train fare to Oxford to see Child No. 1 graduate. Then, of course, there is the electricity, mortgage and milk bill to settle. Have you ever seen an enraged milkman? Good. And may you never have to. The point being, even taking the Child Benefit into account, there is no room to fund a Royal Wedding next month.
Could the wedding perhaps wait until the other children have graduated and holding down Fortune 500 jobs and keeping me in the manner to which I will insist? No?
In lieu of daddy, what about Will’s Granny then? She must have a tidy pension she can dip into? Spent it all on Vodka you say?
Let’s think. No point asking the Republicans since they’ll have spent all their money on Vodoo Dolls and pins in anticipation of the big day…
Did mummy leave any frequent flyer miles we could perhaps cash in…?
Stop crying. We’ll sort it out.
I’ll get our neighbour, Mrs Hawkins, to make the dress. I know she has yards of material left over from the net curtains she’s always twitching. We can host the buffet at the village hall (Mrs Croft makes a lovely sausage roll), and we’ll hire Farmer Pete’s barn for the reception. He’s rebuilt it after it burnt to the ground from last month’s rave, so there’s a bit of luck.
Let’s not waste money on invites. I’ll get one of the children to run a Facebook event and someone can Tweet it nearer the time. We might get a few unwelcomes, but we can always put a Facebook block on the Duke of Edinburgh.
Don’t worry about the music, I’ll get toothless Pete to play his harmonica for the first dance. (I’ll make sure he cleans up the coin hat and flea bitten dog that usually accompanies him.) We’ll have a bit of a bop in the evening with Jazzy Jay’s Hip Hop disco, so do tell the family to brush up on their ’Casper Slide’ won’t you dear.
What else? Oh, the honeymoon. I’ll book you a nice long weekend at Center Parcs. Bring bikes.
I think that’s all.
No. I nearly forgot. I’ve spoken to ‘The Big Issue’ people and they’re happy to do the media coverage.
I trust the above will meet with your satisfaction, dear, but you know what they say…beggars…well, no, you probably don’t know what they say. Anyway, give me a call on Thursday when we can chat over any other little details. It’s late night shopping at the Co-op so I’m hoping to pick up the Bridemaids’ dresses then, but I’ll have my mobile with me.
HMS HerMelness Speaks