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Ok, I admit it ... I was glued to the telly for royal drama

I'm coming out of the closet. Well, the sitting room actually. You see, that's where I did it. Watched the Royal Wedding. Yes, the whole caboodle, church ceremony, the drive away, Buckingham Palace and that kiss.

And worse I even got emotional. I haven't done that since Bobby Ewing reappeared in the shower scene in Dallas.

All week some of my normally sensible female friends appeared to have lost it. They abandoned normal speech patterns and discourse.

'The Dress' dominated discussions. 'Kate's weight' also featured highly. Maybe they were secretly programming me for the wedding.

Remember how we forced women to became soccer experts during our World Cup exploits? This was their revenge as I was an expert on wedding matters even before the broadcast.



hooked

I wasn't going to watch it. I was meant to be writing a political critique. So you can't really blame me for switching on the TV, can you?

And I was instantly hooked. There are compelling reasons for my conversion.

First off, this was theatre at its purest. It even had a balcony scene. And a happy ever after kiss.

Normally it's the Catholic Church who do the best showbusiness. When it comes to theatre and spectacle, they have few peers. Now it was the monarchy's turn. And they didn't disappoint.

The church ceremony was great. The Archbishop was straight out of Central Casting. This was Lord of the Rings for real. With booming voice and worldly wise whiskers, this sage wished the young couple well on their journey into the centre of the earth.

Anytime I found myself getting bored, that other great purveyor of royal magic Elton John came into shot. It was refreshing to see this diva singing someone else's song. The music was sublime featuring English and Welsh Choral harmony of the highest order.

And just when you felt really spiritual who's there but the carrot-headed Prince Harry. You just knew he'd be goofing around, looking to stick chewing gum on the Archbishop's seat or something like that. At least he didn't show up in an Adolf Hitler T-shirt.

Other relief was provided by Prince Philip. I couldn't forget the Spitting Image portrayal of him. Especially when he was standing dangerously close to Kate's sister Pippa on the balcony.

But there was something else. In a world disordered, broken with cynicism and despair, there was hope.

Hope in a young couple unencumbered by the weight of recession and despair.

And unlike Charles and Diana, this did not feel like an arranged marriage. Maybe that why a lot of Irish people identified with it.

And don't forget, like most Irish couples, William and Kate were living in sin for years.

We need heroes even if they are only ordinary mortals. We need escape. And I understood why my female friends spoke of little else all week.

Maybe women have always known how to deal with doom and gloom.

There were 5,000 street parties in England yesterday. Communities came out to celebrate.

The avenue leading to Buckingham Palace had a symmetry that was sorely missing from our lives. Fantasy, yes of course. But we need it don't we?

It found its peak in the money shot, or the love shot as we should call it.

We waited for the couple to appear on the balcony. The kiss realised all our unfulfilled dates.

For every woman in Ireland this was the Prince Charming moment come true. For us lads it made up for Dympna turning her cheek away all those years ago that night in Ballybunion.

And now that it's all over the Duchess of Cambridge can start eating again. I hear she's partial to a bit of Clonakillty black pudding.

As for me I slipped into femmedom but I'm over it now.

As a true male again I'm gearing up to watch the Heineken Cup match with the lads. By the way didn't you just love Kate's lace pattern?


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