Everybody loves a good wedding, don’t they? Me especially.

Truth be told, I genuinely hadn’t intended on watching The Royal Wedding and in fact, I’d already finished a draft post on how I couldn’t get into the excitement that had been building up to the big day (and some other waffle about celebrity culture that I’ll save for another week).If it hadn’t been for tonsillitis meaning I had to cancel plans (plans of the ‘a day of child free shopping’ variety), I wouldn’t have seen any of it. As it was, I was lounging about feeling sorry for myself when I switched on the tv, and well…the rest is actual history.

I’m only a few years older than Prince Harry, in fact I was born just a couple of weeks after Prince William. We’ve kind of grown up alongside one another in alternate universes. They’ve always been there throughout my life and we’ve seen their highs and their lows in great detail. Like many people, I feel like I almost know them. So when I saw Princes Harry and William arriving at Windsor Castle, I couldn’t help but get a bit excited despite myself. I mean, it all just looked so beautiful. From the incredibly resplendent castle (what a fairytale), to the glorious sunshine, amazing floristry and our ever-impressive, dear old Queen Elizabeth II. It was all simply stunning.

Nobody does pomp like the British.

Did you see the various guards and soldiers in all their finery? How spectacular.

Of course, HRH Duchess of Sussex looked beautiful, but that’s to be expected, isn’t it? Why is anyone surprised that an already attractive and intelligent woman, about to marry a Prince in front of the entire world, would look anything other than perfect. She was never going to rock up in a dress from Primarni.

The whole thing made me quite emotional and I have no idea why. I’m much more emotional since becoming a Mum than I ever was before but I’m also very soppy about weddings generally; seeing two people declare their love for each other is such a privilege.

I was also excited about some of the (tiny) waves made. A bride walking herself down the aisle. A mixed race, divorcee bride at that. The exquisite gospel choir, injecting some well received soul into the service. Who’d have thought it? And let’s not forget that preacher.

The magnificent Michael Curry (what a breath of fresh air) who quoted Dr King and de Chadrin (whom I must confess to having never heard of) in his passionate speech, and spoke with real fire in his belly about the power of love and what the world could be if we were able to harness it. And I believed him.

I understand that fire because I had it on my own wedding day, knowing I was marrying my best (& most annoying) mate. I have it for my kids and I know that if you could take it and make it into a fuel, it could power a rocket to the moon. *sorryaboutthecheese*

I watched the ceremony unfold with tears in my eyes and a heavy heart, knowing that one day my own children will chose to move on to the next stage in their lives (whether that involves an actual wedding or not is irrelevant) and I will have to let them go, gracefully. I cannot imagine how proud and overwhelming that moment will be but I do know that I will be a sobbing wreck (as will The Bearded Manc).

I’m welling up just thinking about it. ‘Get a grip woman, your kids are 1 and 4’, I hear you say.

I’m going to need the next twenty years to mentally prepare myself for that day but for now, there’s a cup of tea with my name on it so I’m going to go and think about thinking about exercise while you think about how you’ve just dedicated even more time to the royal wedding.

Sorry about that, luvvie.

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