You tell me love’s too plebeian?
You’re going to protest against the Royal Wedding?
I’d like to stop you there, if I may.
Now, I don’t know you very well, but I can guess by the way you’ve just volunteered that piece of information, in the manner of a fifteen-year-old kid trying to impress his mates by swearing blind that he really did just wee all over the school begonias, that you’ve got a the full complement of Guardian-sanctioned opinions.
Let’s see. Republican? Check. Atheist? Check? Believe that all conflicts in the world anywhere, at any stage, are down to oil, western imperialism, racism, or a combination thereof? Check. Think that Henry Porter and John “Citizen of the World” Pilger talk jolly good sense? Check. Your party pieces include, “Why Drugs Should Be Legalised” “Politicians: They’re All The Same You Know”, and “Prostitution Is So Liberating”? Gotcha. You have never, at any stage, supported a political party upon that party getting into office? Check.
You’re a cutting-edge cool cat, daddio!
Sarcastic? Me? Oh no, I agree. I mean, I am a republican; republicanism comes with the membership card to a greater or lesser extent when you’re in the Labour Party. In any case, even the most fervent monarchist must now admit that if God was in charge of the Royal Lineage, there is no way that He would have allowed Prince William to grow up to look like his uncle Edward. Since you ask, I share your view on the Royal Family. And I remain profoundly unexcited by the Royal Wedding. No big deal, right?
So why in the name of all things holy are you making it such a big chuffing deal? For heaven’s sake, yes! I admit it! I will probably watch a bit of it, partly because I am vaguely curious about what it’s all going to look like, but mainly on the grounds that I’ll probably have the telly on in the background whilst I wander around munching sandwiches and trying to decide whether it’s too early for a gin. Because that’s what I do on my days off. Sue me.
What’s wrong with having street parties? I’m always up for a bit of community bonding and think this is fine – admirable even. Incidentally, if anyone fancies inviting me to a brown buffet with bunting, I’ve never been known to say no to a sausage roll and something on a stick.
You could always ignore the damned event. I don’t watch X-Factor, but don’t spend the evening of its broadcast camped outside Simon Cowell’s house with a thermos and a placard, because that would be deeply tragic. But you’re stood there wearing an immensely smackable expression, which you think says, “I thumb my nose at our aristocratic overlords!” but to everyone else screams “Intellectual onanist”, and expect us to be impressed at your plan to disrupt the Royal line of route so you can kumbyah all over it to “make a point” about republicanism or whatever?
We all know what it’s really about. It’s about proving that you are far more sophisticated than the ignorant proletarian “sheeple” whose viewing habits on the 29th you plan to use to elevate your feelings of smug superiority. How very socialist of you.
Well, this just in: no one cares. We’ll all be munching on pineapple hedgehogs, drinking gin, enjoying a day off and saying to each other, “Hey, remember March 26 when a bunch of chumps knackered the message about government cuts by behaving like arses? Yeah, they’re at it again but piggybacking on the Royal Wedding this time.
“If they were really that important, they’d have their own protests instead of getting all Trotskyite entryist on everyone else’s day out.”
“Fancy a little something on a stick?”