And so ends this miraculous period of Bank Holidays and fine weather.
In the end I multi-tasked in order both to see the wedding briefly on my brother's massive HD telly and catch fish.
On the former I make two observations. First, in a tsunami of sycophancy and uncritical puffing by oily commentators it was refreshing to see a drop of objectivity from Hafal's Chair Elin Jones (in her capacity as eminent historian and broadcaster) in S4C's commentary box offering sober and factual observations on the ceremony and pageant (by some accounts of the paranoid security operation she was lucky therefore not to be bundled into a police van for "conduct likely"). Second, at the risk of sounding unchivalrous, the whole affair confirmed my longstanding judgement that, whereas British tailoring for men, whether civilian or uniform, is second to none, British couture for women is shabby and unstylish and further (dare I say it) the choices of the variously aristocratic and establishment ladies, whether of British or foreign threads, leave a lot to be desired. Contrast elegant (and Spanish) Mrs Clegg with Prince Andrew's two...
... my case rests.
On the fishing I can report that both the "rotten bottom" and float rigs were failures but the pollack fell to a silver foil "feather" sent 50 yards off-shore by my trusty telescopic beachcaster rod (Lidl £15 including reel and some tackle) and tasted delicious simply fried in a little butter and olive oil.
