Sublimely ridiculous

"Didn't she look lovely?" "Makes you proud to be British." 'That mallard's choking on a clump of non-biodegradable confetti." The royal wedding certainly gave us a lot to talk about.

There was the incessant media coverage, which did a great job of showcasing how many Middle Englanders will happily poke fun at the inadequates on shows like Britain's Got Talent, only to camp outside Westminster Abbey for three nights, dressed like Kate Middleton's engagement ring. ITV went for a light and frothy tone, whereas the BBC seemed to given Huw Edwards the wrong brief, since he spent most of the broadcast talking as though he was covering a national disaster.

We also got a healthy eyeful of the celebrity guests who make an event like this seem just a little more accessible. Victoria Beckham struggled to raise a smile, possibly because her ridiculous heels were twisting her leg into the kind of shape that only a skilled contortionist or that lank-haired ghost in The Grudge could manage. And Tara Palmer-Tomkinson proudly showed off the results of a sixty-minute makeover on her nose, even going so far as to wear a dangerously pointed Philip Treacy number that that made it look like she'd GeoTagged her own shattered septum.

Suffice it to say, this wedding was all about the headgear. For instance, Zara Phillips turned up in a titfer that could have doubled for the SETI dish from Contact. When the sun finally shone as the happy couple emerged from the abbey, it wasn't a break in the clouds, Zara had simply stooped to adjust her heel.

But the prize for fashion statement of the decade has to go to Princess Beatrice. Like Rumer Willis, the poor girl is stuck with a disturbing mishmash of her parents' features, having inherited the worst of both. With eyes so large they'd send a manga illustrator back to the drawing board, she obviously felt as though she needed to draw attention up and away. And did so with a piece of millenary that has already inspired its own Facebook page.

When we first got a glimpse of it, from the back seat of the limo that ferried her and Eugenie to the abbey, it gave her the appearance of an errant child who'd got his head stuck in the back of an ornate dining chair. Then she stepped out and the world gasped. Part Snow White's magic mirror, part facehugger, it was the kind accessory that didn't just say "look at me", it screamed "I dare you to look away".

Of course, the live broadcast meant that the commentators had to maintain an air of professionalism. Instead of blurting out "What the hell, did she answer the Call of the Cthulhu?", they were left to impotently discuss her pinky-beige ensemble. However, the Twitterverse exploded in disbelief that anyone would want to attend a wedding looking as though they ought to be mounted on a wood-panelled wall over a gun cabinet.

Yesterday was a pointed reminder that we're subjects, as well as citizens, in our own country. But at least we have a voice. And despite Huw Edwards and Simon Schama repeatedly asserting that "a day like today undermines the theory that we've become a cynical society", social media's record of the event tells a very different story. And it's fucking hilarious.

Crowning glory

Well, the wedding preparations are in full swing for the happy couple. The hen night venue's been booked (Bar 86 in Kensington, if you're interested), the wedding list has been prepared (donations to charity or a Breville sandwich toaster) and honeymoon locations are being scouted. Apparently, the Scilly Isles are a hot favourite, although not literally - this is England after all. 

So what are the rest of us to do in the run-up to William and Kate's big day? No doubt there'll be hours of breathless news coverage right up to the moment of conjugal penetration - perhaps Jennie Bond can come out of retirement to talk us through that bit - but even 24/7 reportage is unlikely to satiate our hunger for Royal tittle-tattle.

At times like these, faced with the mundanity of our own drab little lives, we should be thankful for the makers of souvenir memorabilia. That quintessentially British habit of marking any momentous occasion with a celebratory piece of cheaply-printed flatware.

But although plate-makers are currently rubbing their hands together at the prospect of the forthcoming nuptials, other canny industries are also looking for a piece of the hot royal action. Between now and the 29th April, we're going to buried under a tsunami of unwanted ephemera, bearing the happy couple's long-faced likenesses. Cups, flags, banners, bunting, T-shirts, hats - you name it, someone's making it.

Perhaps the most surprising addition to the ever-expanding line-up of commemorative tat, is a new range of 'Crown Jewels' condoms. For just £5.00, you can vicariously participate in the Royal deflowering with a "triumvirate of regal prophylactics". You can't eat a sandwich off them, but just think of the stories you could tell the grandkids.

The official website declares that the 'boîte de capotes' combines "the strength of a Prince with the yielding sensitivity of a Princess-to-be" and "includes a collectable portrait of the Royal Couple as they might appear on their wedding day" although, hopefully, not on their wedding night.

Since you can't ever have innovation without outrage, Ingrid Seward, editor of Majesty Magazine, has criticised the condoms as "completely tasteless and rather hurtful". Was she was hoping they'd be ribbed and flavoured for her pleasure?

Before you get too excited, it's worth pointing out the website's disclaimer: "Crown Jewels Royal Wedding Souvenir Condoms are a novelty condom not suitable for contraception or protection against STDs." So they look the part, but are largely useless. On second thoughts, maybe they're an effective reminder of the happy couple after all.

Best foot forward

Better book the trestle tables from the local church, whip up a batch of sausage rolls, and learn the words to 'God Save The Queen' - there's a royal wedding coming. Who cares about the fact that the Monarchy is an outdated and grotesque institution; just think of the magnificent hats.

On April 29th, even the most avowed anti-royalists will be raising a glass of own-brand fizz to our future king and his bride. After all, it's not every year that we get an extra bank holiday.

It seems as though everyone is getting in on the excitement. Agnetha Fältskog has hinted (in rather oblique terms) that an ABBA reunion might be possible if the band was asked to attend the wedding. And one of Kate's friends has come up with a great hen party idea: shooting illegal immigrants in the East End. Unfortunately, Emma Sayle was cautioned by the police for making racist comments before she had a chance to invite Kate to join in.

Not to worry though, the young couple have plenty of other things to keep their minds off the nerve-wracking nuptials. William has been earmarked by hair loss brand Rogain as their ideal celebrity spokesperson. In a timely press release, they announced "We've been watching Prince William's growing bald spot closely for years, and we believe Rogaine can help…" If nothing else, that lucrative sponsorship deal could help pay for the big day. After all, it's not like they're having a registry office ceremony, followed by a Scotch egg at the local pub.

But if you find that you can't contain your excitement for the next four months, you could always book yourself on a walking tour of the 'William and Kate' love story. Sod the traditional tourist traps for just £15 you could traipse around the streets of the capital and visit such landmarks as Mahiki, where William once declared his reinstated bachelorhood when the couple split in 2007. Or how about the branch of Jigsaw on Dover Street, where Kate briefly worked as an accessories buyer? Failing that, there's the offices where Kate's great-grandfather used to work as a solicitor. Fascinating stuff, I'm sure you'll agree. 

Most of the other stops on the tour are more concerned with Charles and Diana. Even Camilla gets a mention or two along the way. Because, any way you slice it, the young couple simply haven't had the chance to accomplish that much in their short lives. Like Justin Bieber's recent 'autobiography', it's a little too soon to try and concoct a compelling narrative around a story that could almost be told in real time.