The Eve of the Wedding

Her father was sitting in his study, reading the Telegraph and checking his share prices. There was a nervous tap at the door and he called, 'Enter.' The young bride to be opened the door, her face, normally so radiant, was streaked with tears.

'My Darling Kate, what on earh is the matter?' He leapt from his chair to embrace her. 'Last minute nerves?'

'Oh, Daddy, I simply can't go through with it.'

'Can't go through with it?' He slumped back into his chair. 'My God, woman, you can't mean it. For heaven's sake, you've got half the British Army poncing around the streets of London, not to mention the Navy and Airforce. Hundreds of bloody horses, carriages and your mother's bought a new hat that cost half the national debt. I've hired a morning suit and a bloody top hat. Your future Grandmother-in Law has had a new frock made and that twit the Archbishop has had his eyebrows plucked specially for the occasion. Six hundred women have been doing the flowers up the Abbey; the massed bands of the British Military have been pacticing for months; the BBC has put hundreds of cameras all over London; the Old Bill have cancelled all leave and three hundred highly trained spaniels are sniffing for bombs as we speak. Millions of tourists have flooded into the Capital, yanks and Japs and God alone knows who else, just to catch a gander at your frock and that cost enough to make Posh and Becks wince! Your sister's frock wasn't much cheaper and when is she going to get a chance to wear that, I may ask. She can hardly slip into that for a piss up down the Old Kent Road, can she? And what about all the foreign dignitaries? My God, they've come from all over the world. Half the Royals in the world are here, Presidents and Prime ministers, except bloody Gordon Brown and the noxious Blair, thank Christ. I've bought an entire crop of Champagne and there's a cake about eighty feet high waiting down Buck House and all their staff have polished their shoes! Can't go through with it? What's the matter with you, girl?'

'But, Daddy, I just don't love him.'

'Don't love him? Don't love him. What the hell has that got to do with anything? You don't marry a Royal for love, you marry him for a sodding great sapphire, a life of pointless luxury for you AND your entire family, hundreds of obsequious flunkies, holidays on Arab's yachts and all you have to do is shake a load of grubby foreigners' hands, kiss a few babies and bear a couple of heirs for the heir. Look, his mother didn't love the old man, but she made do with a couple of army officers, the Rugby Captain, the grocer's boy and anyone else she took a fancy to for,' here he paused then said, mockingly, 'Love. Get a grip on yourself.'

'Right ho Pops,' she said, wiping her eyes, 'I can see you're right. Thanks for explaining it to me properly.' She left the room and he wiped a trace of sweat from his upper lip.