A date with Sarah-Kate; Kate’s home truths
A fairytale princess and a play ful prince? How perfect
Oh, there was just so much to love about Pippa Middleton’s wedding to James Matthews, wasn’t there? Her dress! I think it’s probably my favourite of all the celebrity wedding dresses. So simple yet chic, and clinging perfectly to her tiny wee body to perfectly showcase her astonishingly toned arms and miniscule waist.
Were I of the same proportions (alas, even at age six, I fear I took up more space), that dress is exactly what I would wear, not just on my wedding day but every day. And night. Truly, a thing of great iconic style and beauty.
But nothing was more beautiful on the day, in my opinion, than Pippa’s smile. She is a gorgeous woman anyway – those Middleton genes? Shut up! But her face was radiant, her happiness could be seen from space and old Jimmy looked right chuffed too.
I wish the happy couple all the joy and contentment in the world, and don’t begrudge them a single pearl of caviar nor a drop of champagne. Who wouldn’t have Roger Federer playing ping pong with their wedding guests if they could manage it?
But my favourite moment in all the proceedings had nothing to do with the $1.5 million wedding, and indeed just goes to show that all the wealth and privilege in the world can’t protect one from the impulses of common or garden human nature.
I’m talking about the picture of the Duchess of Cambridge giving Prince George a right old flea in his ear behind a tree for being naughty in church. I received quite a few of those fleas myself in my time.
Church takes quite a long time and is quite boring when you’re not quite four. And I doubt there’s a parent among us who hasn’t privately thought at some solemn occasion or other over a rug rat’s repeated hijinks, “The moment I get that little oik outside, I’m going to throttle him.”
Kate, of course, is not allowed to throttle the heir to the throne, but I could see in her face the pain of having her little prince behave in a way she feared, perhaps, would detract from her sister’s nuptials.
Part of me is on George’s side. Those gold knickerbockers will haunt him well past his 21st and indeed quite likely into the best man’s speech at his own wedding. And it didn’t help that all the other page boys and bridesmaids, some of whom looked young enough still to be in nappies, were quite so angelic.
But how I loved the photo of Princess Charlotte looking rather evil and gleeful as her big brother received his dressing-down from his stressed-out mum. I’m sure it was just a coincidence, and she was possibly thinking of kittens and lollipops.
Yet it does tickle my fancy that the royal offspring have about them a touch of a rainy-Saturday-afternoonat-the-mall. For your next supermarket visit with the children, a fascinator might be in order?