Blake and Music and Unintentional Wedding Hilarity

Yes, as soon as you see the word hilarity, the next mental image is of wedding hats. To be exact the wide variety, almost all totally lacking in anything resembling design, seen at the Abbey yesterday. It was wonderful, the comic relief of the day.

Every solemn occasion needs a court jester, after all. My favorites were the futuristic ones that looked as if they were wi-fi enabled, particularly the ones Andrew's daughters were wearing. I bet they also get terrific shortwave reception on those things. Then there were the bulletproof designs, a little like concrete mixers upturned and painted interesting shades of puce and other festive colors.

I'm glad I didn't get to place a bet on the Queen's color choice, since I'd gone for blue and she went back on me and picked primrose. Interesting political choice, since the Primrose League is the more or less trade union of the Conservative Party, which she's not supposed to favor, being expected to maintain a grim neutrality no matter what rubbish goes down at Number 10. I expect if this comment comes to the ear of the Palace, somebody will groan, oh God, everyone's a critic!

The music veered from glorious and wonderful to comic, too. Very jarring to suddenly have the national anthem introduced with a fanfare and all (the fanfares were great! I'd love a whole CD just of fanfares) right in the middle of a religious service. Just in case we all forgot who's in charge there...and the touching sight of Prince Philip having to sing the words while the Queen maintains her usual dignified silence, it being Her Song.

And whoever timed the motet that went on and on and on, long enough for all the signings to be done in the smoky back room or whatever it is, was brilliant. It worked just perfectly. Unless the party was held back until the right time to emerge, they having already signed, called their bookies, made their Facebook entries and other things, in the meantime.

Jerusalem I love, the stirring, rousing sound, but it comes with such Women's Institute (country association of women involving good works and jam) associations, since it's the anthem they sing at every meeting, as far as I can tell. When they're not posing for calendars wearing only a string of good pearls.

So once it struck up, Philharmonic and all, I was looking all over for the women sidling in, carrying the tea urn, and setting up the tables with little pink cakes...and let's not get into the words of Jerusalem just now. It's Blake, folks, Mr. Mystical and Sex, and better not to go there right now. Otherwise we'll be explaining, on the subject of Blake, that the tiger referred to elsewhere is um, not the big stripy animal trotting about in the jungle.

All in all, a great day's fun, wonderfully poised and beautiful bride, who will no doubt bring a touch of class to that family, good idea, and a nice husband, who actually has less hair than his father in law, poor guy. Takes after his grandfather and father that way.

But I have one lingering question: you know how the bride doesn't wear any rings at the ceremony until the groom puts (forces, in this case, ow) the wedding ring on, where was the Engagement Ring at this time? In Harry's pocket? did Camilla offer to mind it? were the little bridesmaids playing dressup with it? hm?

I have to say that yesterday's show was definitely worth the price of admission. And I wonder still at the US commentators who insist the Brits are reserved despite panoramic views of millions of them all over the country, drinking and dressed up in silly gear and dancing and making the kind of jokes they have to watch out not to put on television. It's one of those sweet myths.