No shit. You only have to turn on the T.V for 30 seconds, or glance at the front page of a newspaper and you're bombarded with endless, patriotic images of the Union Jack and advertisements for cheap deals on party food. Like we're expected to all of a sudden LOVE our ridiculously traditional country and celebrate the wedding of two people we've NEVER EVEN MET. It's safe to say that I am not camping outside Westminster Abbey this morning, freezing my tits off on the bare chance that I might just catch a glimpse of the wedding procession. However, that's not to say that I am not joining in the fun. I'm looking forward to the excuse to have a day off and get royally pissed at their expense.
In true British fashion, I will unite with the crowd of Toffs from my village as they pass around free champagne and freshly baked cup-cakes under a huge marquee. I have been dragged into a little baking myself (which I agreed to in a bid to keep the neighbours sweet), so I've decided to be a good sport and humour them: I'm adorning my cakes with edible transfers of Kate's and Wills' portraits. Little do the neighbours know, I will be secretly laughing at their exaggerated British pride as my friends and I consume the Princes' face.
You can probably tell I'm not much of a Royalist. I'm in it for the booze. But for God's sake the Queen had better be wearing a gold hat because I put in 50p on the sweepstakes and could really use the extra cash.
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