A Right Royal Fuss

The major news stations are frantically covering Will & Kate’s final official movements before their wedding as royal fever gains momentum. You’d think they were leaving the country or something. But then, their handlers keenly noted the north-south divide and the north’s cooler reaction to the wedding news by scheduling their final engagemet ‘up north’. It appears the application for street party permits have been fiercely skewed towards London and the South-East. London already has five hundred street party applications in the system; Lancaster, the location of the final pre-nuptial stop, only one. Enter Prime Minister David Cameron to the rescue. Stuff the local councils and all that red tape and bureaucracy! If you want to party with the royals, go ahead and do it! No crowd permits, no liqueur licenses, no street closing applications required. If only government would take a leaf out of his sweeping decision book, so much could be expedited.

Fortunately, our trip home to the Motherland will miss the wedding by a few days. I say fortunately since traveling back to the UK during a royal wedding is like willfully flying into the eye of a storm. You can imagine the chaos, even if it is an orderly, queuing-up sort of chaos, that London will endure. And now that the nation has been given carte blanche to fight for their right to party, it appears streets may be shut down so the residents can celebrate block party-style. Such freedoms sound positively American – a government-given right to revel with the royals – but it’s hard to imagine such abandonment of stricture over here. Smacks of anarchy.

In the media feeding frenzy, we’re now being treated to childhood snapshots of Kate Middleton at three and half years old on holiday in the Lake District. Kate at five years old on holiday in Jordan (there must be a story to dig up there). Kate on her graduation day from St. Andrews. In many ways it reinforces the fairytale reality of the commoner marrying royalty. I’m hard pressed to imagine William’s photo album looking similar with shots of Balmoral, Windsor Castle, or international destinations beside his mother, the Princess of Hearts.

As businesses capitalize on the merchandising possibilities, we see how far the world has come since the 1981 royal wedding. While the U.S. makers of Pez candy dispensers are auctioning off a pair of William and Kate Pez dispensers, British manufacturers have usurped the traditional realm of Royal china mugs and plates with such peculiar items as a full-size refrigerator decal of the lovebirds, your very own Princess Catharine Engagement doll, retailing for a mere £35, or a pair of matching royal gnomes complete with Union Jack hats (which I secretly want.) You can also purchase an entire toddler-friendly royal family procession at Mothercare for £15, or a limited edition, royal wedding ‘Kiss Me Kate’ beer by Castle Rock brewery, being sold in Morrison supermarkets nationwide.

Some of the foreign manufacturers appear to be getting a little confused. One online merchant has a royal wedding mug featuring Kate Middleton and…Harry. You have to wonder who approved the graphics for that one. I once bought a supposedly rare Beatles CD on eBay, but when it arrived, it featured a photocopied album cover insert and what can only be described as Japanese karaoke singers crooning strange versions of Beatles hits.

During our trip home last year, we made a point of heading into London for Trooping the Colour, The Queen’s annual birthday parade, with some friends from Germany. Crowds thronged Hyde Park and lined The Mall leading to Buckingham Palace. Standing with royalists and tourists, we cheered and waved as regiments of gleaming mounted guards processed past, followed by black and gold horse-drawn carriages carrying the royal family. So when a little girl in pre-school recently informed my daughter that princesses aren’t real, she puffed out her chest and informed her that in England they certainly are. And that the Queen’s husband waved right at her.

We’ll be in and out before the royal wedding takes place. The American news channels are already primed to provide up to the minute coverage starting the night before and gearing up for the 6am EST start. Some things are admittedly better observed from the comfort of your sitting room far from the madding crowds, think Times Square on New Year’s Eve or opening and closing ceremonies at the Olympics. Just as I call my four-year old daughter to leave for the airport, I am swiftly corrected. Amidst all this talk of royals as we depart to England, a change has occurred. I am now to call her Princess Grace, please. Who am I to argue? Certainly, Your Highness.