Donald Clarke

Whingeing about cinema and real life since 2009

Screenwriter celebrates the royal wedding

The November chill dissipated a little with the news that Prince William of England, balding son to the FA Cup-eared Windsor dauphin, and Kate Middleton, heiress to a liquid manure dynasty (I think), have finally announced that they are to …

Tue, Nov 16, 2010, 17:55

   

The November chill dissipated a little with the news that Prince William of England, balding son to the FA Cup-eared Windsor dauphin, and Kate Middleton, heiress to a liquid manure dynasty (I think), have finally announced that they are to get married. It’s none of our business. But this “blog” always rejoices when two beautiful young people curl up together in nuptial bliss. It brings back memories of 1981. Echo and the Bunnymen’s Heaven Up Here was on the turntable. Ronald Reagan had just sat himself behind the Oval Office desk. And the beginnings of a fairy tale marriage played out on the steps of St Paul’s Cathedral. As Genesis P-Orridge ┬áput it: “Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive/ But to be young was very heaven.”

Oh we’re so cynical.

Anyway, If you wanted a good laugh this lunchtime, the place to go was Sky News. Kestrel-faced Kay Burley practically exploded with excitement as she tried to inveigle a bunch of dubious “experts” into expressing opinions on a subject about which they knew absolutely nothing. Private Eye runs an amusing column called Going Live, which details totally pointless bulletins from broadcasters standing — interviewless and forelorn — outside the site of recent news stories. A classic example in Sky’s coverage found our own Enda Brady lurking somewhere near the Middleton family business. Clouds gathered behind him. Cars pottered past. Story was there none.

Back in the studio, Kay was trying to get guests annoyed about the supposed fact — derived from precedent rather than any recent information — that Mrs Obama, as opposed to the chief himself, might represent the US at the event. Dickie Botherton-Dotherton of Horseface’s Peerage, Clarissa Squid-Brassley of Grovel Magazine and Bert Redface, royal photographer from The Sun, all did a splendid job of clarifying that they had no information to impart about the increasingly weighty wad of groundless speculation.

The best moment came when one expert, stretching his chinless chin to the heavens, wondered why nobody had suggested some chapel at Windsor as the venue. Kay then revealed that just about the only fact they did know was that the nuptials were to be in London. The expert retired hurt.

Why was I watching this drivel? Well, you need some sort of diversion when you’re scoffing your soup. I’ve stopped now.

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