Bryony Gordon
Meghan could have invited her extended family but, frankly, why should she?
They eff you up, your mum and dad. And your half-siblings. Not to mention the children of your half-siblings, also known as… what, exactly? Your half nephews and nieces?
The Markle family tree has clearly been in need of a prune for some time – or, rather, the services of a professional arborist complete with the latest in chainsaw technology to ensure maximum removal of all deadwood. That this should be surprising to anyone with an extended family of their own truly stumps me.
The “Markle debacle” – as some factions have gleefully taken to describing the sad events of the last week – is surely the most relatable element of the royal wedding. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be able to book Sir Elton John as your wedding singer (I had a DJ in drag), or to walk down the aisle in an exquisitely expensive dress (mine cost £90 from Monsoon), but I can totally identify with the nightmare that is dealing with family when you are about to get married.
After all, not being asked to be born into some mad, dysfunctional family is one of the main reasons why many of us get married, isn’t it? It may not be the one we talk about in the wedding speeches, preferring instead to focus on love and security and all that jazz, but dig a little deeper through the multi-tiered cake and you will find a bride and groom inwardly screaming: “I’m the product of a family that make the Simpsons look normal … get me out of here!”
And even if you do happen to hail from a clan that is totally and utterly sane, you can bet your bottom wedding dollar that announcing your intention to marry will turn them stark raving bonkers. This is because weddings, far from being the love and lightfilled occasions they are often made out to be, are actually events sent from any one of the nine circles of hell to bring out the worst in everyone. Forget Bridezilla; with most weddings, it’s the people who aren’t getting married who do their best to turn proceedings into some sort of marital version of an SAS course.
There was a point, in the run-up to my wedding, when some grandparents were refusing to come because we weren’t getting married in a church. We placated them by agreeing to have our marriage blessed a few months later. On the actual day, my mum had an argument with a guest and then, a week or so later when we had returned from our honeymoon to Devon (honeymoons really being opportunities to get some peace after several months of madness), shouted at me for not inviting enough of my sister’s friends.
And, speaking of my sister, she complained about her bridesmaid dress, which she claimed made her look fat, which was annoying given she is a size eight and back then I was a new mum having to squeeze into a size 20. My father made a completely incoherent speech. My brother spent the day breaking up with his other half, whose rictus grin now sneers out of the wedding photos, a ghostly reminder of girlfriends past. I’d Photoshop the lot of them out, if only I knew how.
The rank hypocrisy displayed this week by some has been completely breathtaking. Complaining that Kensington Palace hasn’t done enough to protect Thomas Markle is a bit like a burglar hectoring a homeowner for not having installed a state-ofthe-art security system. I’m sure that the powers-that-be did their best to try to get Mr Markle over here, to lock him down (or up, in a palace), but he is a grown man and, as we all know, you can lead a horse to water but you can’t always make them drink.
Yes, Meghan could have invited her rapacious extended family to keep them quiet but, frankly, why should she? It’s her day: she can do whatever she damn well wants – and if what she damn well wants is to not have to spend her wedding looking over her shoulder to check that some distant cousin isn’t trying to goose the Queen, then fair play to her.
And as for the assumption that the Royal household should be able to control the uncontrollable – well, if you want a bride whose family are an entirely known quantity, then you’re going to have to choose one from within your own, and as far as I’m aware the royals stopped doing that around the same time that bear-baiting became unfashionable.
You can’t choose your parents, or your half-siblings. But you can choose who you get to spend the rest of your life with. I’m pretty sure that Meghan Markle and Prince Harry are largely impervious to the world’s thoughts about their guest list. At the end of the wedding day, when all is said and done, the only guests that really matter are them.