bank holidays in the uk & how they're spent

Sigh.

The Royal Wedding's over. This is what men must feel like when the cricket World Cup draws to an end.
Complete depression after exuberant elation. This country is suffering a national hangover.

I mean, fuck. We were pissed for four days solid.

Friday - the big day - was absolutely shizztastic. For one, we dressed up. Even the Brit came around and put on a suit. He was kicking and screaming about it at first, but once we were safely on the train eating croissants on the way to watch the wedding, he even got into the spirit.

(Also when Pippa Middleton first made an appearance on the telly. Then the men were all happy weren't they?)

It was panic stations for a bit, as we had to get to the far East End to watch the ceremony on TV. And we almost missed it. I almost needed a valium; we arrived with just seconds to spare as Kate Middleton stepped out of the car for the first time.

There was oohing and aahing, I had to take work calls, and then the mass champagne chuggage ensued. Britain sold millions and millions of pounds of champers this last weekend.

When I drink champagne, or any alcohol that has bubbles in it, I get pole-axled.

Which is exactly what happened.

We then got escorted to the Oxo Tower, and therein had the most amazing long three course meal, bottles and bottles of the good stuff, freebie bags, and just general awesome Royal Weddingness.

They took group pictures and superimposed them onto OK! covers for us. We watched from the balcony the leer jet flyover, and again thought, Crapsticks on a crumpet. I am so lucky to be living in Britain during the Royal Wedding. This thing is going to lift us out of recession, fuckbags. Kate Middleton is driving the retail economy after all. I mean, who wasn't wearing a fascinator and a fake blue sapphire ring?

Then it was a blur, because at that point, I was swinging off my chair. Or as the Brit said, "You were 'anging out of your arsse," which is apparently Brit-speak for "you were intoxicated."

Then Mum sent me a text about how she cried during the procession and how proud she was of her Brit ancestors and the country (she's French?), which got me crying about how wonderful the country is and how great the monarchy is and that they're all superheroes.

"You're dronk verdriet" said my mate. Haven't heard that in a while. But then, I haven't cried because I was so drunk in a while. Especially not over the flipping monarchy.

We ended off the perfect day at a lively pub on the edge of the Thames, that had bunting strung all around it, and giant pitchers of Pimms were being handed out.
Of course, a group of chavs had dressed up like a cast out of My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, which was a delight for the eyes.

Now what to look forward to?

The Olympics in 2012.