WHEN your face is already plastered on millions of T-towels, countless coffee mugs and memorial china plates, it would have taken a very brave lass to give in to her growing fears about marrying a man who was so obviously in love with another woman just two days before her wedding.
Diana, despite grave doubts about her union with Charles, trotted up the aisle of St Paul’s cathedral in a prairie length sweep of crumpled silk with Dame Kiri belting out Handel. In doing so she set in motion a ‘bodice-ripper’ saga worthy of Hollywood’s finest script writers, the result of which ended in events that still haunt the House of Windsor to this day.
After a 34-year love affair Camilla and Charles will today plight their troth in the less than splendid surroundings of the local registrar office. But who are we to carp at this almost happy ending?
It seems that deep within the British psyche there lurks an altogether medieval attitude towards these two middle-aged divorcees joining their destinies. No sirree, despite Diana having died more than seven years ago, hundreds of middle England matrons are this morning gearing up to defend the memory of their Beloved Icon, with plans afoot to disrupt the celebrations by brandishing anti wedding slogans on banners outside Kensington Palace, and by launching a giant poster of Diane in her wedding dress which will float spectre like above the palace gates.
These ladies, all enthusiastic members of the ‘Diane circle’, are vehemently opposed to Britain’s future King ‘getting it on’ legally with the woman Diane once called the Rottweiller. Citing the agony, and zero ecstasy poor old Diane suffered when she was married to HRH, all would now rather see Charles abdicate than marry his Cowmilla.
Well, hang on a bit, this cult of the Goddess Diane has surely gone a bit overboard. After all, she was hardly the stoic take-it-on-the-chin type of wife and, despite her obvious mental frailty coupled with a cluster of emotional problems, most of which stemmed from a less than happy childhood, she still proved she was a bit of a little goer when it came to clocking up a clutch of extra marital affairs.
One of these lasted five years with the doubly dozy hoorah Henry in the shape of cavalry officer turned cad James Hewitt, a relationship which only confirmed she was a really bad picker not only when it came to husbands but also lovers.
As far as her utter loathing for her rival Camilla went she displayed this perfectly when in 1995 she sat down with a BBC camera team and coyly revealed to the nation “that there were three of us in this marriage”. It was this singular statement that resulted in poor old Camilla becoming a national hate figure; the next day Camilla was pelted with frozen bread rolls in her local supermarket by angry royalists.
Of course we shouldn’t overlook the dodgy family dynamics of Our Chuck. In Britain it’s reckoned that one in three marriages ends in divorce. The Windsor offspring seem to have fully embraced this statistic with a failed marriage track record (to date) of three out of three siblings.
The Daily Star, one of the less cerebrally challenged British tabloids, came out on the day Charles announced his engagement with the following headline: ‘Boring old gits to marry’. Now, I take exception to this type of blatant ageism, also to the underlying inference that the happy couple have all the sexual passion of two half-thawed fish fingers. In my book, it seems Charles had, and still has, a relationship with Camilla which is as passionate as his relationship with Diana was arid, especially if the Camillagate tapes are anything to go by.
In case you have blanked this rather sordid little gem of a verbal ‘bonkbuster’ from your conscious brain, it was when Charles rather prosaically declared he would like to live in Camilla’s trousers, possibly as a tampon, along with other highly personal endearments.
I do believe that this was the defining moment when, along with many millions of other folk, I felt we had all been privy to too much information.
And what of Camilla the woman? Well she is obviously as fascinated by Prince Charles as he is by her. Plus, she has extensive knowledge of horses, with the result she has recently become the new ‘blood sport’ since fox hunting has now been banned, with the press turning her into a sort of Medusa in hunting pink. Yet, by reliable accounts, she seems a decent sort of person, with a voice that can call in a pack of hunting dogs from three miles distant. She also enjoys the odd fag and a glass or two of Gordons. A country living woman who doesn’t relish state banquets, preferring to dine instead on bite-sized pork pies in the company of a pair of wet black Labradors.
Camilla is pragmatic, the absolute opposite of her predecessor. She will never be referred to as a fashion icon, preferring the solid comfort afforded by Country Casuals and Marks and Spencer than haute couture. So we won’t be seeing her trot out today sporting Sex and the City strappy footwear; it’s either going to be a coat and dress ensemble in crisp cream or taupe. Hopefully not navy blue, a colour she tends to favour rather more than she should as pictures of a recent outing in a strict blue two piece suit will testify, making her look like a very tired Latvian air hostess.
This is a love that has spanned three decades, lasting more years than the average marriage and, when all is said and done, you can’t help but have a soft spot for a Prince who goes and fancies the ugly sister over Cinders. We, with every other person of good will, should wish them well.
n Charles and Camilla will marry at lunchtime today. If you want to send them a telgram, you can do so on www.TelegramsOnline.co.uk
