I rose this morning at 4 o’clock in order to see the marriage of Prince William of Wales to Miss Catherine Middleton, and frankly I did it reluctantly. But I had an enthusiastic parishioner and an equally enthusiastic house-guest who were determined to watch the wedding; so I joined them in the sitting room, armed with strong coffee, and turned on BBC America.
From that moment till 9 a.m. I was transfixed by the television, except that I had to leave for half an hour to say the 7 0′clock Mass. 23 minutes later, I was glued to my seat again. The only interruption was when a champagne bottle popped and I was forced (first lie!) to quaff a few glasses in honour of the happy couple, and in celebration of how beautifully the Dean of Westminster, the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of London had played their several parts in the ceremony.
I had the unworthy Schadenfreude of imagining the fury of the liturgical modernist brigade at the perfect appropriateness and comprehensiveness of the traditional Prayer Book rite. My second bout of this came later, when I saw the hundreds of thousands of ordinary people crowding the royal parks and the Mall, and especially because the great majority of them were young. So much for those who declare that the young are not interested in royalty and tradition.
When, faint with emotion (and hunger) we ate delicious scrambled eggs on toast, prepared by the worthy Precentor of Norwich Cathedral, I thanked God for all that had happened this day. God save the Queen!