Did no one tell Demi it was a plastic-free wedding?
JAN MOIR on that eye-boggling array of celebrity guests
JUST like the Duchess of Cornwall, the BBC was too busy washing its hair to attend the second royal wedding of the year. After the broadcaster politely turned down an invitation from Prince Andrew to film the nuptials of his younger daughter, the baton was passed to ITV to cover the occasion.
Major event klaxon! Double the rum ration and prepare to meet thy marriage maker.
Flagship programme This Morning sprang into action with a sophisticated plan for a swelegant, finely tooled show that would encapsulate everything delicious and delovely about the marriage of Princess Thingy to Jack Bloke in front of dozens of spectators. Obviously that was never going to work, so they got Eamonn Holmes and Ruth Langsford to host it instead.
I love Eamonn and Ruth, but I’m not sure if having the king and queen of daytime television commentating on your wedding is anything for a blood princess to boast about. On the snob-o-meter, it’s the equivalent of hoping for Edward and Wallis Simpson, but having to settle for Homer and Marge instead.
Yet while Eamonn might not have the gravitas or presence of a vintage Dimbleby, he wasted no time in establishing hitherto unknown credentials as a millinery expert of rare refinement.
‘Where’d she get those chopsticks that go through that hat?’ he wondered, when the Duchess of York first appeared in her leprechaun themed finery. Where indeed?
This was a minor royal wedding played in a major key, presenting our telly hosts with the dilemma of somehow finding the right tone without alienating viewers. Too reverent would have been wrong, too chummy would have been impertinent – although there were certainly moments of pure Ulster sauce.
‘Is Queenie in that car?’ Eamonn would bellow in his Norn Ireland brogue, as he attempted several times to locate the whereabouts of the monarch.
He sounded as if he was trying to find his missing dachshund. In the end, the couple settled on a kind of relaxed but upbeat jocularity, and it was a privilege to share their big day. Eamonn and Ruth I mean, not Eugenie and Jack. Did I say relaxed? Eamonn had the air of a man upon whom forceps were recently used to extricate him from his favourite La-Z-Boy recliner, while his darling wife appeared to have been up all night cementing her hair with max strength lacquer to combat the 40mph winds swirling around their temporary studio in the Lower Ward of Windsor Castle.
‘It’s a bad bride hair day,’ she said, as the most extraordinary ragbag of guests began staggering down the hill in their wedding-day best. ‘ Oh, top of Kate Moss’s head there,’ said Eamonn, helpfully. ‘Holly Valance, very stylish,’ noted Ruth, as the actress wife of property tycoon Nick Candy tottered past in pink heels.
‘Guess who got an invite? Demi Moore!’ cried Eamonn, expressing the mild surprise we all felt as the Hollywood actress known for her devotion to beauty-enhancing surgeries suddenly appeared.
Who even knew that the star of Ghost and Indecent Proposal was friends with the Yorks? She certainly didn’t get the memo that this was a plastic-free wedding, and drifted into the chapel with her usual waxen expression fixed in place.
On and on they came; Pixie Geldof channelling Halloween in her Corpse Bride pleats; actress Liv Tyler appearing to have stepped from the pages of a Chandler novel in her blocky suit; tiny Cara Delevingne in her top hat and tails, looking like the ringmaster of a toy circus.
Among their number was a fruity cache of former druggies and goodtime guys and gals, the kind of demi-famous derelicts who once put the ouch in louche. Who were these people?
ALONG with Kate there was Naomi Campbell, Jimmy Carr, Jamie Redknapp, the pop star Ricky Martin, pop singer Ellie Goulding, professional posh wedding attender James Blunt, divorcee Heather Kerzner, artist Tracey Emin, his eminence Stephen Fry, broadcaster Richard Bacon, heiress Tamara Beckwith, always-the-bridesmaid Chelsy Davy, the Bransons, the Pippas, Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and of course Robbie Williams and his wife Ayda, fresh from adjudicating on the X Factor.
Some had well-documented substance abuse issues, others had loyalty cards from their local rehab facility, most lived blameless lives devoted to charity works and clean living. Certainly, they all behaved nicely when Andrea Bocelli got up to sing, although they couldn’t have known that the first TV ad break featured a crass advertisement for his ‘first album in 14 years’.
A stray ribbon of bad taste fluttered across the proceedings. Armani tweeted details of Robbie Williams’ suit and his wife’s outfit, while even the groom’s employers revealed details of the brand of tequila being served at the reception. Back in the studio, Eamonn and Ruth endlessly discussed the bride’s scoliosis, in a section called Princess Eugenie’s Health Battle.
Do you know something? She is not the only one to have suffered. Take Eamonn, for example. ‘I was born with my hips in the wrong place. In my whole life I could never spread my legs,’ he said. Thanks for sharing, big guy.
Still, it was hard not to be moved by the sheer happiness of the occasion. The rosy-cheeked bride who beamed with joy, the groom at her side who gasped for breath like a gaffed salmon, occasionally overwhelmed with the emotion of it all. Where was Queenie now? Just like Eamonn and Ruth, she did her duty and then she went home.