Hats

I usually try to ignore the intrigues and scandals of the royal family. I view them with a mixture of indifference and hostility with an occasional outburst in support of a republic. But I do genuinely wish Charles and Camilla well. Everyone deserves a bit of happiness at the end of the day.

Not surprisingly the crowd seemed to comprise women of a certain age, children and the odd old boy. Euan Ferguson, writing in today's Observer, pleased me no end when he mentioned Peter Tatchell's presence ("Charles can get married twice, gays can't get married once"). He pops up everywhere now and no occasion would be complete without him.

Clothing was much discussed. More accurately, women's clothing was much discussed. Or did I miss talk of Will's waistcoat and Harry's tie? To sum up, every woman I saw was wearing a hat and none were wearing trousers.

I allowed my mind to wander. What if this teacher from a Barking council estate had been invited? (Not as ludicrous as it might at first sound - a B&B owner, a pub landlady and a couple of tiffin-wallahs from India were included in the gathering). My first thoughts revolved around the fact I don't really do posh people (ie royalty and the aristos). I progressed to seeing it as people-watching of a different kind - plenty of material there. But then fell at the hurdle of the hat. (I suppose they tell you to wear one?). Those fancy creations would never sit on my bed of big, frizzy curls and, more importantly, I'd feel a complete and utter plonker. I've only ever worn hats of the woolly kind (complete with bobble(s)) - at football matches (Goodison, White Hart Lane and Upton Park) and to survive selling fruit and veg on Romford Market in the depths of winter. Perhaps it just wasn't my kind of gig.