Your Royal Correspondent here, reporting from my living room. Originally I was in the third row at Westminster Abbey (thanks to my home-printed “Little Moi” press credentials). But I was unceremoniously booted out when the Archbishop of Canterbury spotted me updating my Twitter feed from an iPhone hidden in my hat. So it’s back to the sofa for me.
This means my reportage will include running commentary from the guys in my family.
The royal whirl has been exhausting for a Californian-Oklahoman who doesn’t curtsy and who thinks “classic national music” means Motown. But here’s a summary of the morning’s highlights, as seen from my house.
To start with a random observation: Most of the royals rode to the church in a procession of minibuses. They looked like schoolkids going on a field trip.
Then, my husband and son couldn’t decide whether William and Harry were driving to the church in a Rolls or a Bentley. It went like this: Rolls. Bentley. No, Rolls… no — Bentley! Me: to be fully patriotic, they should have put a Rolls Royce jet engine on the back of the car. That would get them to the church on time. (Bentley? Bentley.)
(Photo: my son the Eagle Scout, trying to look like a Brit.)
The Queen then appeared, wearing yellow. My son: “She could have made a lot of money off the bookies if she’d bet on that.”
And at last, Kate Middleton emerged from her hotel and climbed into a Jaguar for the drive to the church. I shouted, “Bride! Bride!” Proving yet again that I am six years old at heart. And an incurable throwback.
The music was glorious. Now, I’m the daughter of a church organist, so choirs, trumpets, and processionals always choke me up. This morning was no exception. And as the first hymn finished echoing down the nave of Westminster Abbey, and the Archbishop stood before the bride and groom, my son said: “Mawwiage. Mawwiage!”
But as Rowan Williams went on to speak, in deep velvet tones, my son changed his tune. “How do you get a voice like that?” he said. “He gives Morgan Freeman a run for his money.”
Then it was vows, readings, and more music. As the cameras panned the guests singing classic, traditional Anglican hymns, the Husband spotted the Beckhams. He pointed. “Posh is lip synching.”
By this point, however, the choir was singing “Jerusalem.” That hymn always brings this Yank to tears. (“Bring me my bow of burning gold, bring me my arrows of desire! Bring me my spear — O clouds unfold! Bring me my chariot of fire!” God, I’m crying as I type this.)
In sum: the bride looked radiant. The groom looked dashing. As did the best man — Harry wore spurs with his uniform. They completed him. I just hope he didn’t pick them up at last night’s bachelor party. Everything looked sleek, nothing more so than the Hurricane and Spitfire fighters that overflew Buckingham Palace before William and Kate gave the throngs the kiss they’d been waiting for.
Now the couple and their guests have gone back inside for wedding cake, line dancing, and a wicked game of Twister. And your royal correspondent is going to sign off. Thanks – it’s been fun.
(Photo: your correspondent. Adieu, cheries! That’s all, folks! )
(Cross-posted by Penguin.com at The Author’s Desk.)