Harriet on: the royal wedding and the s word.


It’s snowing. Not even proper snow where you can’t venture out without a snow plough and a few huskies to keep you company. No, it’s ‘barely enough to make a snowman but enough to keep you slipping over’ snow. This is not a happy face.

Sure, I love all the excitement and the possibility of a good old sledging expedition (although living on your own thirty miles away from small child who owns said sledge kinda negates the possibility somewhat), and of course my new Union Flag wellies are a treat to put on my feet. But once you’ve trodden on the snow once it becomes ice. And ice is something we only like in our vodka and coke, thank you very much.

And another thing, this Royal wedding is supposedly going to boost the country’s morale? How?

If Kate wanted to come to my house and personally deliver me £20, or even a chocolate bar, that would boost my morale. If she wanted to tell me what the winning lottery numbers will be this weekend or get the country back on its feet again after the recession, that would boost my morale. The fact that she’s getting married to a vaguely attractive (but balding) member of the Royal family only slightly cheers my day as it causes a bank holiday. So don’t bother buying me a commemorative mug for Christmas okay?


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