Bumbling Boris is off guest list
JOF COURSE I’m delighted. After a hideously draining few weeks, our son’s wedding is safe. But God it’s been fraught, this last-minute whipping together of nuptial necessities – marquee, bar, drinks, food, cake, music; all the original orders had languished because we couldn’t give suppliers the green light. Now we’re just praying everything miraculously comes together on the day.
Still, what’s a bit more tension on top of the crippling anxiety my son, his fiancée and 50,000 other couples have been through since they rebooked last year’s Covid-cancelled weddings because they believed in Boris’s promised Freedom Day on June 21?Which never happened.
Still, we got the consolation prize of big weddings, so we should be grateful, shouldn’t we?
Frankly I’m furious. Boris’s press conference last Monday left me frothing at the mouth. Even though the
Rendless pusillanimous leaks left us in no doubt that the big announcement would be a damp squib, I’m astonished he’s got away with it.
We have a world-class vaccination programme and they still won’t let us out.
And as we were facing endless imprisonment, the sight of the gilded gang at the G7 larking about on the beach was infuriating. The entitled smugness of it! The golden ones, the privileged elite, self-satisfied grins as wide as Carbis Bay, President Macron creepily stroking Joe Biden’s back as if he’d like to lick him to death. Posing for socially distanced photographs, before huddling up close at their Instagram-perfect beach barbecue.
And while Boris and Carrie frolicked on the sand with their baby, pleased as punch and looking like they were shooting an ad for a lifestyle magazine, we, the little people, were about to have our hopes of freedom shattered once again.
Boris performed dreadfully at Monday’s press conference, mumbling incoherently, unsure of his facts.
For a strange moment I found myself longing forTony Blair.At least he’d have sounded like a man with a plan.
So no, I’m not humbly grateful our family can see their loved ones get married this month. And as for the “no dancing” guidelines, I’d like to see them stop us.
ONE OF the reasons Earl Spencer was with us on Good Morning Britain this week was to talk about his new book, The White Ship. But when we came to that part of the interview, with considerable grace he eschewed the opportunity to publicise it and said he’d rather use the remaining airtime to continue talking about his late sister.
So let me tell you about it here because it’s a cracker of a read. The White Ship was, in some ways, the Titanic of its day. Back in 1120, it was the fastest thing afloat; a ship ahead of its time in design, speed and clout. But like the Titanic, it was doomed.
On November 25, Henry I sailed from France for England. He was trailing clouds of glory after four years fighting the French.
The royal vessel was to be followed by the White Ship, carrying three of Henry’s children – including the heir to the throne – and a phalanx of powerful knights and influential courtiers.
In pitch black darkness, the ship hit a submerged rock and went down with almost all souls aboard. It was one of the greatest disasters in English history. Spencer tells the story with extraordinary punch and immediacy – it’s almost as if it happened yesterday. Unputdownable.
JLAST WEEK I said I’d eat my hat if Boris let big weddings go ahead. My chronic indecisiveness means I’ve bought four. Two are rubbish, and I’m still hovering between a classy little disc shape and a fascinator bedecked with loops and feathers. I feel daft in both.
Watching Ascot, I was riveted by how beautifully Camilla wears a titfer. right. Oh well!
You’ll be thrilled to know I won’t write about weddings next week. In fact I won’t be here... did I mention that I’m going to a wedding?