The Royal Wedding is tomorrow morning. We’re excited, but we feel a little disconnected from the ceremony. So we asked Hulu’s own Lauren Sozio to eliminate some of those degrees of separation and give us some reasons to watch. And we asked her to do it in her best cockney accent. She more than obliged.
You can watch the livestream of the Royal Wedding on Hulu starting at 4 a.m. ET tomorrow morning. Here’s your primer. —— Ed.
I am no Royal expert. But I can report as “someone familiar with the matter,” in so far as I once had a brush with the bride-to-be in a loo in Shepard’s Bush.
I happened to be at a variety show called Medium Rare sitting right across from Royal Rat Pack (Prince Wills, Kate, Harry, and his bird-of-the-mo’, Chelsea). Even I—the girl who’d choose Celtics playoff tickets over Manolos any day—couldn’t help but feel a little giddy at the prospect of well, maybe, just maybe one of the princes (I don’t discriminate) was going to fall in love with me, and I would be inaugurated into the Royal Family.
Kate had gotten up from the table. It was all so perfect. Enter coy glance, flirty laugh, exaggerated hair flip. Man down. In my stealth attempt to capture the princes’ attention, I knocked the pitcher of Pimms into my lap, elicited a shout out from one of the performers (Bruce Airhead aka Balloon Man), and ended up in the bathroom next to Kate.
No, I did not curtsy.
So the fairy-tale didn’t go as planned and I have still not received my invitation to the reception. What’s that? You didn’t make the cut either? Join the club. Neither did Blair, Brown, or Obama. Harry barely made it into the family. But it doesn’t mean that the damn Yanks (and forgotten prime ministers) can’t still stream this English spectacle onto their mobile devices.
At 4 a.m., I’ll be awake because Greenwich Mean is already queuing up for Di and Charles 2.0. While the posh don their tails and fascinators (those frufru headpieces that resemble dead birds), I anticipate a day full of carriages, crumpets, clotted cream, champers, awkward formalities, more champers, drunken informalities, and then some wanker passed out on the manicured lawn of Buckingham Palace being prodded by an expressionless guard. Brilliant!
So why do we care? Rebecca Black gets more hits in a day than the Queen has earned in a lifetime, but yet coverage runs rampant. Will the Royals shake down Middleton? How is she affording the $8400/night apartment when the Queen can hardly afford to keep up Windsor? Which Saville Row tailor was lucky enough alter a royal hem—unless it was the Duke’s that is. Heck, even Seacrest is making recommendations for the first dance. (Ryan, just one word of advice, let Cowell handle this one).
Could it be that we are a bit nostalgic, America? Is it bank hols envy? Or is it simply the fact that media loves a good fairytale?
Meredith Vieira’s compassionate soundbytes fall mute compared to the roaring Britabloids. Daily Mail has had a Royal Wedding watch since Will popped the Q. They’ve had columns like Royal Fan Watch, which document strange and creepy fans who make collages of the supercouples out of marmite jars.
Presenters, too, are all a-tweet. Here’s British anchor Kate Garraway: “Gettin in the mood 4 the RW,” she wrote, while wearing unruly attire. Thank goodness for the Guardian’s fantastic sense of humor—an “as seen by peek” into Harry’s Facebook album of the “best stag night ever.”
This is the World Cup of weddings.
I may be an irreverent Yank, but in spite of my criticism, I am a closet Anglophile. OK, I said it. I lived there for along enough that I can get away with it. I know that football is a gentleman’s sport played by hooligans, and that snakesbites are potent pints that will put you under the table. I also know that after the egregious “Robert Green Gaffe”, we owe ‘em a little respect.
Keep in mind that “God Save The Queen” shares the tune with “My Country, ‘Tis of Thee.” Let’s put our pride aside for the day, salute the Union Jack and, enjoy the spectacle while it lasts.