Prince William goes back to work today in Anglesey as a helicopter pilot and presumably his new bride, the uglier of the two Middleton sisters on show last Friday, will stand at the kitchen window washing dishes and wondering what to make for his tea when he comes home.
They took one day off work after their marriage and decided to postpone their honeymoon “for a while”, well, thats another thing that we have in common then, ok its the only thing we have in common then, for the current wife and I did exactly the same thing, our excuse was that we were skint though.
We were married on my birthday in 1983, a Saturday, and we spent Saturday night at what was then the poshest hotel in the North-East – The Gosforth Park Hotel, highlighted the following morning by the private exhibition in one of the function rooms of retailers to posh people by personal invitation only, somehow we crept in and the wife who wasn’t even my wife of 24 hours yet took off her wedding ring to try on a huge diamond and sapphire affair that some posh retailer was casually bandying around in the hope of attracting monied clientele.
“Ooh its nice” she said which roughly translated to “It makes my H. Samuel engagement ring look like a lucky bag prize”
“How much is it” I asked casually, a cricket sweater slung over my shoulders in the way that I’d seen posh people do
“Its £18,000 sir” said the toad who thought I was loaded, he may as well have said that it would cost me the planet Jupiter and the first born of every family in Newcastle for the next ten years, my annual salary was around £5000 (no I haven’t missed any noughts off) at the time and I was shortly to take a pay decrease from those dizzy levels of remuneration after I went to work for my father.
“Take it off” I hissed at my less than 24 hours long married partner
“ooh its lovely” she said holding it to the light which roughly translated to “You cheap little shit, we haven’t even paid the first installment on our £30 wedding rings yet”
And so on Sunday lunchtime we returned to our marital flat, a one bedroom, two roomed shoebox into which she had crammed all of her wardrobe at the expense of my wardrobe and my record collection which she had craftily assigned to the local dump, an act of marital treachery that I still inwardly seeth over today and never fail to remind her of, daily.
We took one day off work and with the money that had been thrust into our palms by the wedding guests, all £20 of it, we went and bought a twin tub washing machine from Comet in Cowgate, one of Newcastles more “interesting” suburbs, lets just say that the Comet electrical retail store had no windows and you were served at a counter just inside the door where the staff stood behind steel mesh screens, yes, it was a bit rough on Cowgate.
Just like William and Kate we promised ourselves that we would have our honeymoon later, a promise of an island paradise somewhere hot where flunkies would dote on our every whim but I suspect that Ms Middleton (or Mrs Wales as she is now known) may not have to wait as long as my current wife has had to – 28 years this year and still no sign of that honeymoon.
Ah well, at least she still has me, that should be compensation enough for any old bride (ducks to avoid flying flower vase)