Don’t turn into part of the showbiz circus
Robbie chewing gum. Celebs gawping at Demi Moore rather than the Queen. LIZ JONES loved the wedding but she begs the Royal Family...
IT’S 9am on a blustery Friday morning, and I’ve braved the phalanx of armed but very chatty police to stand, poised at a barrier, next to the statue of Queen Victoria outside Windsor Castle. I’d expected to be among, let’s face it, be-Union-Jacked fruitcakes and a few passing Japanese tourists for this, the wedding of a radiant but minor Royal.
I can’t help but laugh when the woman next to me, Sheryl Arredondo, who arrived last night from Michigan and is sporting Union Jack nail polish, tells me the presenters on ITV have been debating how to pronounce the bride’s name: ‘Is it EUgenee or EuJANEee?’
No one’s ever said it much, I tell her. I’m someone who has found it hard to distinguish Eugenie from her older sister, Beatrice.
‘When I told my co-workers I was coming over for the wedding, they had no idea who she was,’ Sheryl says. ‘Until I said that Fergie’s her mum.’ So why on earth has she travelled all this way? ‘I’m 66. This might be the last Royal Wedding I get the chance to see.’
As more people arrive, and ooh and aah at the castle, it becomes clear the reason we’re here is to be able to say we were part of history; we were there.
It’s not just another society knees-up, so many people – young and old – tell me: ‘The bride is the Queen’s granddaughter.’
Even if we don’t know everything about her, there’s huge affection washing around, keeping us warm: ‘Eugenie is one of the quieter ones,’ admit Julie and Malcolm, now expats in Sydney. ‘We miss all this,’ they add, taking in the pomp and the pageantry. I meet Alexis and Sol, both 20, here from the US. ‘I love the fact Eugenie has a job!’ says Alexis.
As someone who is not just a little obsessed with celebrities, I keep brandishing my phone and pointing out to people in the crowd the latest star to have disembarked at the church. But, to my huge surprise, no one’s interested; not even 25year-olds Lewis and Sydney, here on a date. They only have eyes for the Windsors. ‘I think Kate looks tired,’ says a mum with a screaming toddler in a pushchair.
As I bring up each famous face on my screen, my little group squints and grimaces. At Naomi Campbell: ‘Let’s hope no one p***es her off!’ At Cara Delevingne, who has turned up in top hat and tails: ‘Has no one told her, today isn’t all about you!’ At Ricky Martin, there’s a simple: ‘Why?’
The most opprobrium comes from Rav Singh, a 57-year-old former IT worker, currently caring for his dad. He thinks the Royals who court celebs are playing a dangerous game.
‘Look at David Beckham, getting out of that speeding ticket. If you’re photographed next to him, what does that say about you?’ I tell him Posh and Becks are a no-show, but that Jimmy Carr is here. ‘You see?’ he says. ‘Tax avoiders. They need to be careful. It looks like the Firm are fawning over famous people. They should stick to inviting European dignitaries, not models.’
I counter that the British Royal Family has always courted the famous. Diana was friends with Elton John and Gianni Versace. Several women give me an ‘off with her head’ stare. No one is allowed to utter a bad word about Di. ‘She was always much more famous than anyone else,’ I’m told. ‘Eugenie is in danger of being eclipsed.’
In fact, throughout the whole day, the only people I meet who are keen to glimpse James Blunt, say, or Robbie Williams – who turns up chewing gum! – is a group of horsey ladies, here rather noisily from the Cotswolds. ‘We went out to the farm shop where they were supposed to be uploading stars on to coaches, but we didn’t even see Ellie Goulding!’ Are they upset? ‘Nah! As long as we see Zara Phillips. We love her!’
WE WATCH the ceremony on someone else’s phone, as mine has died. As Eugenie says her vows, ‘I’m shedding a few tears,’ says a 50year-old former PR who has dealt with her share of selfish, unruly pop stars. ‘It was so romantic and traditional. So English, with those rosy cheeks.’
As the ceremony draws to a close, everyone straightens and cranes for the moment the carriage containing the couple will flash past. Don’t we think Eugenie is making a bit too much fuss, I whisper to a woman from Wales.
‘Every girl dreams of a fuss. She’s spent her life being carer to her parents, she deserves today. I hope they will be happy.’ My goodness, this crowd is generous. What about the £2 million spent on the police? ‘It’s less than was spent on Trump!’
When at last the carriage passes the crowd, now fourdeep but as bald as William’s head in places, I’m puzzled no great cheer goes up, just a weak titter.
‘That’s because we were all taking photos on our phones,’ says a misty-eyed lady.
Of course, the stars had been invited, and seemed thrilled, but they will have spent considerable time over the years grooming the young princes and princesses, slicking their own events with magisterial magic. They seem to think they are ‘better’ than the Royals, and by that I don’t just mean better looking.
In church, most stars’ eyes swivelled towards Demi Moore, not the Queen. Celebrities always do as they please, too (which I doubt is a luxury Meghan can now enjoy), thinking rules don’t apply to them, which is why some sneakily posted on Instagram from inside the church. Whatever happened to respect?
The other wedding that took place on Friday morning was one between celebrity and Royalty. It was a marriage of convenience, one guaranteed to reap the most coverage and viewers, but where will it lead?
It implies, with the positioning of the gum-smacking Robbie Williams and his wife so near the Queen, that the famous and the Royals are equal. That they belong to the same club. The one that digs up basements and annoys neighbours, lives in faux Georgian mansions, has affairs and runs out of money. This young batch of Royals (‘they are so good for PR,’ one 55- year- old woman proudly wearing a £5 Eugenie and Jack scarf tells me) have only just got the Firm back on track. Let’s not derail it now.
The Royal Family are different, and if they’re not, then why are we paying for them? If Euge! and Jack are no better than Posh and Becks, why should we revere them and wave to them in glass carriages? We will turn into America, where money, not history or duty, rules.
I’m sure the Queen has famous friends, but I doubt they snort coke. I wonder, too, at Beatrice’s choice of reading, from The Great Gatsby. It’s a book about spoilt, rich, empty idiots who destroy everything and trample over everyone around them. That’s not the Royal Family. That’s Hollywood.
Even the choice of car to carry the couple from the reception – an Aston Martin made for the James Bond film Spectre – pays homage to fiction. There’s a danger the bona fide glamour of the Royals will be tarnished by this constant clamouring for the faux. They will become a chimera, as easy to erase as a Pixar cartoon.
Oh, and by the way, Williams was no longer chewing when he emerged after the ceremony. Can someone please check beneath the pews?