This day so far has not been as good as it could have been.
I'm sort of jammed up and the weather is being beastly. I have about a jillion flowers to transplant and there is the remainder of the tree in the back yard that needs to be ground up.
Tomorrow is supposed to be a really good day, but I just know that something/someone will want a piece of me and there will be bent feelings.
Right now in the background the Royal Wedding is on, but not for the reasons most people think.
I am not going to watch the entire thing, I'll just add to this as I pick up on bits and pieces of it.
I really don't give a damn about poor old Willie tying the knot, but what is interesting is all the pagentry and the foofurraw and geegaw that is going with it.
The costuming is pretty funny to watch. I just saw a bunch of little kids dressed up like 17th century admirals and others in Little Lord Fauntelroy suits. It made me laugh.
I guess the entire city of London is there and everyone is dressed up.
Now they just zoomed in on someone that looks like he is holding back about two six-packs, thirteen cups of coffee and maybe a glass of orange juice. The man looks like he is ready to explode. The poor bastard.
Over across from him is another couple, probably the Duke and Dutchess of Earl or someone and he looks like he needs about 3 fingers of Jameson's and she looks like she's ready to wet herself. She looks a lot like the other guy I just mentioned. A guy with a jug under his coat could make a few bucks for sure, but a guy with a screen and an empty mayonaise jar could probably make enough to retire on in about ten minutes flat.
There's Harry, I guess, standing there next to his brother and the look on his face says, "Better you than me. When my time comes I'm skipping out to the colonies and the wedding chapel in Vegas with the Elvis look-alike guy!"
William is the heir.
Harry is the spare. This means that maybe he CAN get away with the Las Vegas/elopement plan.
It is a good thing that as the actual ceremony is going on. Right now they are at the if 'anyone has any reason why these two cannot be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold their piece' part.
This part make me grateful that I am here and not there because I just know that if I were there a damned fly or something would kamikaze my throat and I would either cough or clear it and the resulting 'ahem' would draw a gasp of horror from the entire British Empire.
If I had to attend such an event I would have to purge my entire digestive system the night before and arrive totally dehydrated which may not really prove to ba a very good idea, either. Passing out isn't too cool, either.
Now a choir of little kids are singing and they are pretty funny looking. The boys are in red coats with ruffled 'Errol Flynn getting ready to fight a duel' collars. They look like they are in training to become swashbucklers. Actually it's kind of cute.
Now there is some kind of windbaggedness on the part of the preacher, who I suppose is the Archbishop of Canturbury or someone. The Queen Mother is sitting next to her son, Prince Charles and Charles is doing a remarkable job of looking at the Archbishop with a rapt look on his face like he is listening to something earth shaking. I'll bet he is bored to tears, but the Royals have been trained to look interested in just about anything.
I'd be a lousy royal. They haven't built a church yet that I couldn't fall sound asleep in.
Next there is kneeling and prayers, which is part of what a religious wedding is all about, so I can't say there's anything wrong with that.
There's all sorts of preachers involved in this one and they are taking turns. The camera is on one and then the other as they add their two bits worth.
Now a big choir is singing...nope it's the congregation.
More prayers, and an interruption. A call from a doctor's office scheduling a medical proceedure. I'll take a break.
More little kids singing, these are dressed like little altar boys.
Gabrials Golden Trumpets are playing typical British castle music which move right into 'God Save the Queen', which is par golf.
They zoomed into Charles again and he looks like the past few years have really aged him.
More hornage blaring, which quickly turns into somewhat quieter music as the new couple goes to sign the register. I wonder what would happen if Prince WIllie had a problem writing and put an 'X' in the spot?
Now, an X is divided into 4 quadrants. The appropriate witness would fill in the quadrents as follows. The top quadrent would read 'his', the bottom would read 'mark'.The left one would read 'Prince' and the right one, 'William'. And there it would be, for all to see. I know all about this because back when I was in the army I endorsed a GI paycheck in this manner to see if it was legal. It drove the bank nuts, but I came in with two witnesses and they signed it this way. My CO heard about it and laughed like hell.
Now there are a whole bunch of...
Interruption: Official Fanfare on the trumpets as they start to leave.
Out they go to horse driven carts and as usual I have an evil thought.
The bride ought to throw the bouquet. I wish she would. That way I could get to watch the catfight of the century! Picture every woman in London, from eight to eighty, blind, crippled or crazy fighting over the bouquet! London's answer to 'The Jerry Springer Show', and all it would take to start it is a quick flick of the wrist. The power that Kate has in her hand is something that a brace of six-guns can no way compete with.
It would take the entire Corps of Royal Marines to break a melee like that up and the casualties would be enormous.
Fleet Street would go wild. The wedding itself would wind up as a small article on page nine while page one would read 3784 women dead in wedding bouquet cat fight!
It's pretty neat watching all of London go nuts cheering and carrying on.
Of course, when you think about it, the two of them are not looking forward as they ride. I don't blame them. I wouldn't look ahead. Off to the left and right are the adoring crowds. In front of them are a half-dozen horse's asses. Pick one.
Next, I suppose, are a bunch of gala festivities of some sort and I'd just bet that it is going to take a king-hell dose of crank to last for the rest of it. They just said that Harry is throwing a survivor's party after the dinner and that supposidly is the place to go, but with over 700 people invited I'd probably pass on that one.
The British military is involved, of course, and while for the average Tommy the assignment is probably considered an honor, you can bet your ass that being a Tommy in those ranks is no joy.
It's bad enough having the NCOs all over your case checking you out for, say, a colonel's inspection, but having colonels and generals in a state of panic over non existint uniform problems must be sheer hell. I can hear some brigadier screeching in panic-stricken voice at some poor private telling him that he has his socks on the wrong feet. Ouch!
The crowds are being shown now and in the flood of Union Jacks I see a Japanese flag being waved. Whatever.
One of the things I have noticed is that everyone there is dressed very nicely and sharp. The women are in well put together conservative dress, but nothing showy. It is like their clothes are designed to bring dignity to the event and not draw attention to the wearer. It's refreshing, actually.
Of course, one of the American reporters is wearing a dress that is out of place. The dress says 'check out my boobs'. What do you expect? Bad taste is timeless.
Speaking of the American media, where the hell is Joan Rivers? This kind of stuff is right up her alley. As much as a lot of us laugh at her, she'd really be the one to watch if she was covering this event. Joan would probably do a pretty good job of reporting on this event. Maybe she is, but I'm on the wrong channel.
I wonder how many people have and will try and crash the thing? I can picture one potential crasher and that would be Larry the Cable Guy. Yes, this is just the party for Larry to try and walk in on. I can just picture him getting pitched out on his ass. I can just see some huge guard in a Beefeater uniform throwing Larry out and as Larry hits the pavement I can hear, "Git 'er done!" in an East Liverpool accent.
Still, on a more serious note, security must be a gold plated bastard. There has to be a genius here running things. Security has to be as tight as a drum, yet be totally unseen.
I'm actually glad I watched it.
Outside the house it is drying up so I guess I'll go outside and plant in few minutes.
And ten minutes later it started raining and I am back here and as soon as I walked it it started to dry up so out I go.
Hey, a Lanc and a pair of Spits just did a flyby! Cool! A WW2 Avro-Lancaster bomber escorted by a pair of Spitfires! That would be like having a B-17 and a pair of Mustangs do a flyover in this country.
OK, NOW out I go.
Back in. One of the neighbors came by when I was planting. She asked me if I had seen the Royal wedding. "Yeah, I did. First time I ever saw Larry the Cable Guy in a necktie," I said.
"Nope. He was sitting next to Camilla Bowles. Prince Charles had to sit with his mother, so Larry escorted her. Check it out on Joan Rivers tonight," I said.
"Yeah.. He cleans up pretty good. He even took his baseball cap off when he entered the cathedral." I said.
"Oh, I hope I get to see it!" she said and started to drive off. Then she stopped and backed up and reopened her window.
"Larry the Cable Guy did NOT attend the Royal Wedding!" she said.
"Whatever, check out Joan Rivers," I said.
She rode off figuring I was probably full of baloney, but I could tell she had a tinge of doubt in her mind. The thought that maybe Larry DID go to the Royal Wedding was going through her mind.
I got outside finally and transplanted over 100 marigolds. They are sprouts and it is probably too early to see what is going to happen to them. I know it is too early but I'm going back to sea and it would be too much to ask anyone to come in and water them or otherwise take care of them while I go back to work
my other blog is: http://officerpiccolo.blogspot.com/ http://piccolosbutler.blogspot.com/