There wasn’t a wrong note all day.
Well, yes, there was Beatrice’s Lady Gaga hat and Eugenie’s Falstaff doublet, but they were a necessary counterpoint to all the perfection, making it all seem even more perfectly perfect by comparison. (Poor loves, I do hope they get a good stylist after this.)
I was glued to the telly from 8am (having been up much earlier to finish icing 60 red, white and blue cupcakes for the street party…) and was eternally grateful for the long sermon which made it possible for me to make a mercy dash to the loo.
My first peak was William turning up in the splendid red dress uniform of Colonel of the Irish Guards, not the much drabber RAF uniform (although big respeck to that service…), with darling Harry in his fabulous Household Cavalry threads.
Aren’t spurs a good look? Even Prince Charles was working a solid silver spur.
I’m convinced we will be seeing elements of these uniforms in the next round of autumn/winter fashion shows. All that fabulous gold braiding and those trousers with a red stripe really are too divine (although you really need Spencer legs to show them off to full effect…)
Then of course – The Dress. It’s right in at number two, if not the number one spot, in the top ten of all time Royal Wedding Dresses, with Princess Grace’s the only other one in contention.
Demure, yet slinky, elegant and stately, a little bit Tudor, a little bit Victorian – and most marvellously from the house of Alexander McQueen. The boy from the East End tower block. The greatest fashion designer Britain has ever produced.
Sad he didn’t get to design it himself – he committed suicide last year, the day before the funeral of his beloved mother – but in all honesty, I don’t think he could have done a better job. In fact, I think it took a woman’s touch to give this dress such feminine finesse.
And all those ladies appliquéing each shamrock, rose, daffodil and thistle onto the silk tulle by hand at the Royal College of Needlework down at Hampton Court. Washing their hands every 30 minutes, changing their needles every three hours.
I find that connection back to Henry VIII absolutely riveting. That palace is so atmospheric you expect to see him come swinging round every corner. Even more thrillingly, the babe formerly known as Kate Middleton had some of her dress fittings with Sarah Burton actually there. Wonderful stuff.
Then there was the sister’s dress. Ay caramba. Her Royal Hotness. I overheard my husband chatting to a chap who lives along the road about the wedding this morning. Guess which particular detail of it all they were discussing…?
But that’s OK, because I’d just been talking to my niece (26, so just the right age for him…) about Prince Harry. What a player. That sexy equestrian walk, like he’d just tied his horse up in the vestry. That messy hair and the cheekiest grin.
I could go on…. and on…. and on….. and on. Such much more to discuss, like the moment when he winked at her during the service. Holding hands as they went through Admirality Arch. Prince Harry with the tiny bridesmaids in the carriage. The verger cartwheeling down the nave after they’d all left. Driving to Clarence House in Prince Charles’s Aston Martin.
Then my personal memories. Popping down to the Mall for a look the day after and finding the atmosphere was still electric. How incredibly fun and mad our street party was. My 8 year old daughter buying a cheap hair piece with some birthday money today and dressing up as Kate Middleton, with an old net curtain for the veil and dress.
And realising I will be an old lady before anything like this happens again.
As the Duchess of Cambridge said herself: Wow.
For more of me going on about it all:
And a link to the Daily Mail’s brilliant website stories, including a lip reader’s translation of what they were saying to each other: