COLUMN: The Ely Grumpster’s take on the Royal Wedding

The Ely Grumpster

The Ely Grumpster - Credit: Archant

• Those of you more than slightly acquainted with my weekly meanderings will be aware that late last year, in partnership with Doris, neighbour Andy and our dear PM, Mother Theresa May, I was able to secure the venerable Prince Andrew, Duke of Golf and Air-miles, a role as “Director of Ideas Management, Buckingham House Office” (DIMBHO).

• Well the reward duly and deservedly arrived – an invitation to the wedding of the year – Harry and Meghan! Doris’ Facebook page has been on fire and I even bought a new suit (see picture).

• Saturday arrived and proud as punch, we made our way through the streets of sunny Windsor, Doris waving regally at the thronging masses. “Cor blimey, now I know ‘ow the Queen feels” she exalted. Some geezer even asked for my autograph. I signed it. “All the best John, from George Clooney”. A humourless copper checked our invites, looked us up and down and ushered us into the field that would be our home for the next four hours.

• We found a spot away from the sheep dung and laid out our picnic. “Come on Andy, beer time”. Doris jaw hit the ground. “What the ‘ell is that?” “It’s our picnic”. “Wot, 24 cans of bitter, a pack of pork pies and three scotch eggs? Gawd gimme strength”.

• Before I could answer, I was aware of a large grizzled figure striding towards us. “Blimey, it’s Beefburger Botham” cried Andy. He looked decidedly unhappy. “Hello Grumpster. Not at all happy with you calling me out in your column” he muttered, handing me a playful slap in the face”.

• I was saved from further Beefy treatment by the arrival of another celeb. “Wow it’s Katie Price” exclaimed Doris, awestruck. “Hello my lovelies” she said, waving a bottle of fizz at Andy. “Cristal my love?” Andy paused briefly. “No, just pour it into my pint mug”.

• There was further drama when Fergie set up a stall flogging her “Budgie the Helicopter” books, but was promptly ejected by security.

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• Then the real guests arrived and filed into St George’s Chapel. “Right let’s go” said Doris, hitching up her dress and draining her drink. “Sorry my dear, only the great and the good go in there, not the hoi polloi like us”. Doris looked shattered. “Come on love, the sun’s out and how often do you get to see Prince Charles picking his nose?”

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