Royal Wedding

Being a staunch republican, I am desperately trying to ignore all things Royal Wedding. My alter-ego Lady Margaret however is a dyed in the wool monarchist and will be taking tea in the gorgeous garden at Widcombe’s White Hart while the nuptials are shown on their al fresco screen.

Quite a dichotomy for your truly. But in my current straitened circumstances, anything for a free tea.

And while I’m at it, I can’t resist telling you a story about a woman who booked Natural Theatre to appear at her wedding. She asked for one of our weeping brides. They normally turn up at the reception in big meringue dresses and runny mascara and mob the groom. This lady however thought it would be a hoot for her unsuspecting husband to be ambushed on the steps of the register office just after the ceremony.

On the morning in question our bride dutifully got a taxi to the venue and prostrated herself at the feet of the groom, wailing hysterically that it should have been her and pounding the pavement with her fists. As she gave her all, the bridal party looked particularly startled. Annoyed even. And so they should have, as it was the wrong wedding! The booker had made a mistake about the time.

Ever professional, our fake bride went home, had a cup of coffee, re-applied her runny mascara and then got a cab back to the right wedding. As it happened, she had the same driver, who, being completely used to having our odd characters in the back of his cab, remarked ‘Blimey, they don’t half work you hard at that Natural Theatre Company!’

Luckily the second party thought the intervention highly amusing. What the first lot’s opinion of guerrilla theatre was, we never found out. A glance at their wedding photos would undoubtedly reveal their thoughts on the subject.

Now whether William and Kate have booked us to add something just a little bit special to their day I am not at liberty to reveal. But if you suddenly see in the corner of your screen five burly guardsmen bundling what looks like a blushing bride out of the abbey you’ll know. Or perhaps someone will have got the timings wrong again.

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