Royal Wedding Balls

Bethnal Green is alive with elaborate plans to avoid the Royal Wedding at all costs. Julie and I have got ourselves an 11am train out of Kings Cross, Scott and Vanessa have gone further, an eight hour bus ride up to Scotland, anything not to have to suffer it and it's nauseating commentary. Much to the shock of seemingly everybody familywise, this house is not royalist (we just can't stand it) but we find ourselves in interesting company; Planet Rock have just advised that they won't broadcast anything with a whiff of Windsor about it on Friday- probably Hell's Bell's will find itself on the playlist, D. I. V. O. R. C. E maybe? I'm rather hoping for some dissent, like Goth Day at Disneyland when they all wear their black and snarl at Snow White.

I notice another epicentre of agony is happening at the EXCELL centre at the same time in docklands; the infernal Grand Designs show. I cannot imagine a room much worse than one full of hopeful couples planning their dream houses and looking for correspondence courses in project management whilst perusing turf fucking roofs. I would immediately find myself in the bar where no doubt fiesty Bulgarian chicks doll out semi lethal mojitos to the desperately realistic.