Sunday 24 April 2011

I'm leaving on a jet plane

This isn't a good time if you dislike the Monarchy (or harbour the slightest anti-Establishment streak).

Britain has gone wedding crazy: the nation seems more obsessed with what the dress will look like and whether she will wear her hair up or down than the fact that the body count in Misrata is rising, the economy is melting faster than Arctic ice and hot cross buns seem to have shrunk. Bluddy hell, I once worked as a fashion journo and even I don't give a toss about whether the dress features flounces or frills, is ivory or white or is the mother of all meringues. Seriously, where do people find the energy to care?

It's estimated that 66 percent of Brits will celebrate the occasion by taking part in street parties next Friday, and the nation is currently so awash with bleeding Union Jacks it's like living in a BNP rally.

Along with two million others, we are fleeing the madness. We fly to Malta at a ridiculously early hour tomorrow morning. This is why air travel was invented.

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