Having spent the morning unsuccessfully attempting to scrub the graffiti off my wall, I spent the afternoon unsuccessfully trying to stay awake through the Thames boat extravaganza.
Annabelle, who has a bit of a girly-crush on Kate (as indeed, if I’m honest, do I), insisted that we, along with the celebratory flotilla, muster our sterns in forelock-tugging-readiness to witness, for about the tenth time in the last eighteen months, history in the making.
Other than the fact that Kate and William were on the menu, the draw for me was that Camilla-Park-Her-Bum was going to be there. As we know, at last year’s royal wedding mistakes were made, and golden opportunities to pop a cap in her arse lost, but this time, crucially, she was going to be near water.
Camilla on a slippery boat deck?
No way I’m missing that.
As it turned out she didn’t slip off anything although there was an amusing bit when the Queen tried to stuff her daughter-in-law’s massive, attention-getting hat out-of-the-way and into the cabin of the Britannia Barge, but old Camilla is made of tougher rhino-hide than that and a bit of a head-popping tussle ensued.
Having resorted finally to firmly planting her foot on Camilla’s head, the Queen regained control of the situation and the festivities (and yes I use that word very loosely) continued.
As the hours ticked by, Annabelle and I, in an attempt to stifle our yawns resorted to a game of ‘Shout-If-She-Smiles’ – which is a Queen based, ‘history-in-the-making’ hybrid of i-Spy.
After a couple more hours, I had one point and Annabelle had none.
I’m not even sure if my point was gained entirely honourably, Annabelle said it was just another royal grimace and The Teenager insisted that it was an inevitable facial reaction bought about by a turbulent river related, stomach upset.
Stray bullets and an extremely large Camilla-Hat-Target?
Talk about keeping up the suspense.
It was just then however that my Sky Satellite Signal stopped being received which it does every time there is a bit of light drizzle, so after all those hours of keeping my fingers crossed and my eyelids open with match sticks, I’ll never know how it all turned out Camilla-wise.
I am, however, confident in reporting that now I’ve seen one thousand-boat pageant.
I’ve definitely seen them all.