A Royal snub

It may be because I'm slightly demented or irrationally optimistic but whichever it is I am genuinely disappointed that I'm not going to Kate and Will's wedding. And when I say genuinely disappointed I mean that I actually feel disappointment. Real disappointment. Like I might if someone I counted as a reasonably close friend didn't invite me to celebrate their nuptials. Now, naturally I'm not offended. Neither Kate or Will know who I am, and actually I wouldn't even feel offended if a friend didn't invite me to their big day as I appreciate that the numbers game with any wedding is fraught.


No, it's not offence I'm feeling. I am disappointed, and a little surprised, because somewhere in this crazy head of mine, I had this idea that I'd be in attendance at Prince Will's wedding. I'm not quite sure why that is, but since it transpired that my name was absent from the Middleton/Windsor guest list, I realised I really did believe I'd be there. And that begs the question. Demented or optimistic?

I think it started with my birth date. You see my mum and Princess Diana were in labour with me and William together. Well, actually they were worlds apart but they were together in the sense of giving birth at the same time. My mum recalls the midwife in Lismore Base Hospital telling her and the other labouring mothers they were in good company. Lady Di was sharing their fate.

Growing up sharing a birthday with Prince William led me to believe, for reasons I cannot explain, that it was somehow ordained by nature that he and I had to marry one another. Logic and rational thought were obviously not strong suits at six, but this was my belief and I was mortified. I believe I was in a phase where the idea of marrying anyone was rather horrifying, let alone a boy. Especially one who looked a little awkward. So, setting a precedent I would enthusiastically replicate for years to come, I spent a little bit of time worrying about a fate so remotely unlikely to occur it didn't warrant one iota of worry.



By the time I saw the error in my deduction I believe I was firmly in a phase where the idea of marrying a prince was rather fantastic. So a smidgen of disappointment crept in when I realised that sharing a Prince's birthday did not, in fact, decree matrimony. Ok, maybe a large smidgen of disappointment but fast forward several years and the sad and troubled fate of Diana, in life and death, certainly took some varnish off the shiny veneer of marrying a Prince. Mary Donaldson, of course, has gone to great lengths to re-polish that image, but that's a whole different story. (And, luckily for her, a different family.)

Somewhere along the line, I formed the view that instead of marrying Prince William, the real joy would be in attending his wedding. Partly that's because I'm nosy but mostly it's because it brings together two of my preferred fixations - weddings and royals. You see, I really really like weddings. All of them. Always have. Always will. And the same goes for the Royal family. I am fascinated by the people behind the monarchy. I like to think of myself as a reasonable, well-adjusted person, capable of conversation beyond tabloids, at least sometimes. Politically I'm not inclined to support the royal family. And yet, I love them. I prefer to believe this fascination doesn't make me a frivolous person, but I am aware my interest is often occasionally mistaken for that.

But I digress. Back to The Wedding. That. I'm. Not. Going. To.


Given my close proximity to Will – close in the sense that for a time I believed we had to marry – as well as my lifelong dedication to all things royal, I consider myself a worthy recipient of an embossed invitation to Buckingham Palace on April 29. The fact my stint living in this very country coincides with The Wedding, bolstered my hopes further. I thought my fate was sealed. I was destined to attend. Yet, it would seem that message never reached the Palace. Alas, no invitation has materialised.
Now I can't deny that upsets me, I've been very frank about my feelings. The disappointment's still there but I have accepted it. I've even found some solace. It's true I have no need to don a divine dress, I'm not going to hear Prince Harry's speech, nor Prince Will's, and I'm not going to have a bank of royal anecdotes to share at dinner parties for the rest of my days. But it's not all bad. Given I'm not royally occupied on April 29 I am free to sit in comfort and watch the celebration unfold on tv with friends (who have already promised to remain very relatively quiet during the coverage). I will definitely get a better view of The Dress* this way. And I'm hopeful the souvenir editions of Hello! will equip me suitably in the royal anecdote department for years to come. I figure if I relay them with sufficient authority, in years to come whether I was there or not, will be neither here nor there.


*The Dress is something I think about very often. My prediction is Kate will wear something quite structured by Sarah Burton for the ceremony and something more romantic by Temperley for the evening festivities. This is based on judicious research. Primarily of Hello! magazine.