Divorced,beheaded,died; Divorced, beheaded,slob

Charles still not Queen - after all these years...

Alright, so I admit that I am a very late (as in only 2 days ago) jumper onto the bandwagon of the Royale Wedding.  But now that I'm here, I'm all atwitter.
All atwitter at poor Kate Middleton and her obvious fall from adulthood to infanthoody.  At least according to The Daily Mail.


To wit (to woo):

- Enjoying her last days of freedom: Kate Middleton skips along the King's Road like any normal 29-year-old (at least she's getting married before turning 30, which is what my sister said to me).
-  Kate 'will not obey': Bride will follow Diana's lead and ditch ancient vow as she pledges to 'love, comfort, honour and keep'

And wouldn't you want to leap back into the soggy womb when confronted with this vision of your future
- The inexorable, crinoline parachute drop into endless dowdy dowagerdom.


Although I must say that the writing is quite brilliant in that last nightmare scenario.

Then again we have the usual MacBeth wedding reference:
- Call for special branch! Workmen create Kate's indoor forest at the Abbey


Now, why, you may ask, is this of any interest to me whatsoever. 
Well apart from the general knowledge of outre ersatz cultural events so I can win at Trivial Pursuit (does anyone play that any more? Is it all now extraordinarily specific; 1980's female rock stars, HBO documentaries, Doomsday scenarios from the past 3,000 years? It's not even a game really is it), really nothing, nada, de nada but since I grew up with this nonsense, it's like old home week in the looney bin.


Which should have put me in good stead at a recent audition - the whole 'oh good, a native British speaker auditioning for a native British play' - but instead of either a) waltzing in and stealing the role or, well actually there is no b) this time.

But I embarrassed myself and possibly all of North London. I found myself putting on an english accent.  Yes you read that right.  I WAS PUTTING ON AN ENGLISH ACCENT.  How, how, how is this even possible? It wasn't as though I was putting on a Cheshire Cheese or Cockney cartoon accent.  Nor was I trying for the Beeb or London accent or even Received English.  I was just me, with what has been referred to as a prep-school accent (right Jono?).

I guess it's rather like realising that you can't walk down the stairs if you are thinking about how to walk down the stairs.  Brain suddenly gets confused.

Like throwing car keys away just because ones' tooth fell out.
Not in a horrifyingly public way but just because one begins to be decrepit after a point. Or maybe the word is 'decrepify' which then leads to all sorts of things - NB- This powerful curse (the aforementioned Decrepify) lowers movement and attack speed, as well as reducing all resistances (physical, poison, magic, fire, cold, lightening)by 50%.
All well and good, but that doesn't really whiten my teeth  does it. Yes I'm talking to YOU Mr. Rembrandt. Liar, liar pants on fire. 

Or having English teeth. No, it's not an excuse, but it does save me time knowing that no matter what, flossing just wont help.  It wasn't only the sweets consumption as a child but it was the horror of going to Harley Street and being told that I needed fillings and was given fillings without the use of novocaine.  Yes, my American friends, novocaine wasn't used in England when I was growing up - and no, we aren't talking about the 1930's - we're talking about the Carnaby Street Era - Mary Quant, Biba, Vidal Sassoon being my mum's hair stylist, Crank's.
My father used to try and jolly up the whole situation by writing on my teeth 'drill, baby, drill' - wait he didn't write that, he wrote pro-labour messages to the dentist though - on his teeth. I got the special dissolving lozange that was supposed to create foaming at the mouth, timed to start as I got into the chair but of course didn't.  I started looking rabid right around the Royal Academy of Music (where I spent portions of my time being scared witless by adjudicators who pronounced me, musical but sloppy). Sloppy. Slattern. Slovenly.

And who in their right mind would even mention the future QofE after that?

Well the Press of course:

- In a branch of Whistles, Kate even bought The Kate, a blouse so-called because it was the one she wore in her Mario Testino engagement photographs. Perhaps she spilled soup on the original.



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