Not only will loyal subjects of Her Majesty the Queen such as myself soon be able to celebrate the nuptials of the eldest son of her Heir Apparent, but Buck House has now filled our cup of joy to overflowing with the news that her eldest granddaughter will be tying the knot on 30th July 2011. In Embra!
As your self-appointed, local Royal correspondent, I immediately dashed the few hundred yards necessary at lunchtime today to bring you one of the first pictures of the imposing kirk in which the marriage will be conducted.
As you can see, I was beaten to it. There was already one tv satellite van in place and there were two of them by the time I went past this evening. It’s probably only going to be a minor media frenzy nationally so there’s no need for non-Jock MK’s to get too upset. Embra will, however, possibly get a bit over-excited and our own, local, torn-faced, sour-mouthed, girning republicans will surely have a field day. Their choice -whatever makes them miserable.
Anyhow, a grand choice of venue. It’s just up the road from the wee hoose that her Granny keeps for when she’s in town.
Granny is, of course, a staunch Presbyterian when she is North of Hadrian’s Wall and Canongate Kirk is her Parish church. It is also the Chapel of the Royal Regiment of Scotland and the minister is a former Black Watch chaplain. Amongst the notables in the graveyard are Adam Smith the economist and only good thing ever to have come out of Kirkcaldy (apart from linoleum) and Agnes McLehose, who had Robert Burns as her bit of rough for a while. All in all, Canongate is a grand place for Zara to get married, in my opinion.
Except that she will have to go past the Scottish Parliament to get to the front door of the kirk from her Granny’s and I think that it would ruin her big day to have to set eyes on that mawkit dump. So, I reckon that the bridal party should take the low road and nip round the back instead.
I admit that it’s a slightly rough way in to the church at the moment but we’ve got a bit of time to tidy it all up and both Zara and her Dad, Foggy, are used to jumping big walls and fences so I don’t see it being a major problem.
I will be writing to her to make the suggestion and will also be recommending a venue for the reception. Years ago, I assisted one of our clients to find a suitable place for his Armenian restaurant. I had a great time going round various buildings with him. Eventually, he settled on the former police station which was used to hold prisoners before they were taken to be hanged on Calton Hill. When he bought it, it had been used for years as a mission hall for various Christian sects. Right in the middle of the hall was a huge iron tank big enough to allow total immersion for baptism of the reborn. I can still see it in my mind’s eye – painted bright sky blue and with ‘Jesus aves’ in huge stick-on plastic letters on the side. We never did find the missing ‘S’.
The point is that the building is in such close proximity to a Royal residence that we had to write to Her Majesty to get permission to turn it into a restaurant. She graciously consented.
As you can see, it is in a lovely spot right beside the main East Coast line to London. One day, after the owner is dead, I will write a blog about the many enjoyable dining experiences which I had in the place. I really do believe that Zara would appreciate the unique combination of lots and lots of courses with lots and lots of rough Georgian wine and cherry brandy. From there, it’s only a short stagger back to the side door of Granny’s hoose.
I am really looking forward to the day and intend to be in the throng on the Royal Mile, even if Hearts are playing at home that Saturday. Not that they will be. They’re bound to fix it so that it is the turn of Hibs to be in Embra. That’ll get a few republican MK’s off the street.
But! There’s always a but when you’re a Jock. Zara is a truly fragrant flower and it’s just a pity that she is choosing such a weed as her life partner. To be fair, Mike Tindall seems a nice guy at the top or Beaumont end on the scale of England rugby captains and nowhere near the bottom or Carling end. He is still, nonetheless, one of that unhappy breed. And he might even be a Grand Slam winning England captain by then. It’s a worry.
My one hope is his future Mum-in-law, the Princess Royal, President of the Scottish Rugby Union. She has already told him to get his broken nose fixed in time for the wedding and maybe she’s also told him that it would a good move to lose in the Calcutta Cup match this weekend. If he does, we will be cheering him to the echo on the happy day.
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Boadicea's Chariot 
Seeing as Scotland has run out of “more” tags, I provided an Aussie one for you, JM. 😎
That’s in July isn’t it John? Who knows I might just be in Embra to add to the throng!
I am sure it will be a lovely and dignified affair, far better than the republican circus in the USA or France.
Jm, it’s just bread and circuses, I fear. The opium of the people, even. 😦
Will she be joining him at RWC 2011?
A royal wag perhaps 😉
She is an accomplished 3 day eventer who deserves respect as a sportswoman in her own right.
Interesting that although she and her brother have declined to use any royal titles, the country still treats her as one. I’m with Janus about the wedding though.
A great blog though JM, thank you
Sorry, Bearsy. I was standing at the bus stop this morning when I remembered. I thought that you would probably do it, but I just nipped back to check.
Thanks.
Hang on a cotton pickin’ minute there Jay Em,
Allow me to picture the scene…
Stage Left: A slightly damp and windswept JM at a ridiculously shelter free Embran bus stop, waiting for the number 47. Traffic crawls by at a snailspace in the rush hour madness, Other Embrans huddle to escape the bitter chill and grumble and moan at the tardyness of their public transport while a few hardy pigeons battle for meagre morsels amongst the previous evenings discarded kebab wrappers and burger boxes.
The day, like any other holds the promise of deadlines to meet and reports to be filed. Clients must be reassured and served with good grace. There is a list of groceries to be compiled and purchased on the return leg because the fridge is bare and the last of the semi-skimmed went on the crunchy nut, hastily wolfed as he exited the house.
The radio reported more fighting over oil, deeper cuts in public services, higher taxes and the passing of some forgotten TV face from the 60’s.
JM turns his collar to the Embran weather, plunges his numb hands into the pockets of his overcoat and does his best to ignore the annoying headphone buzz from the hoodie clad commuter next in line. He contemplates the day to come.
“Bugger!” he muses “I didn’t put a ‘More’ tag in my Chariot blog!”
Ferret, love it 🙂
Damn good images JM, bloody good blog an all, thank you.
Ferret #8, you are a class act, and no mistake, brilliant, simply brilliant.
😆
Soutie, Val and Bearsy,
Ayyy Thank Yawwww!
Jay Em,
Sorry chum but I simply couldn’t resist. 😀 The voices made me do it.
Ferret – Brilliant!
JM and Ferret – It’s like Morecambe and Wise. Brilliant! No prizes for guessing which one has the short, fat, hairy legs though.
OZ
Hope it’s not a three-day event though – except for the groom of course. 😉
Funny, brilliant blog!
Ferret, good evening.
Your #8. That’s uncanny. It’s almost as if you had been there.
A couple of slight factual corrections. It was a pleasant and sunny morning, although we have had two torrential downpours and a hailstorm in the course of the day. That’s Embran weather for you. We get quite a lot of it every day.
All of us at the bus stop knew that we did not have long to wait. Thanks to Bus tracker, we don’t have to hang around very much most of the time. It can go seriously wrong on Princes Street at busy times, but it’s usually fairly accurate.
http://www.mybustracker.co.uk/
No hoodies, but two charming Fifth Year girls (your Year 12, for the avoidance of doubt) waiting for their private bus to their fee-paying school. I have known them both for years and we were passing the time with one of our usual pleasant chats when I had my ‘Forgotten the More tag’ moment. I checked Bus tracker on my mobile phone and saw that I had a good five minutes, so I strolled the 50 yards back to the house to see that Bearsy had done the needful. Caught the bus with a minute to spare.
The local Rock Doves that roost in the trees of Fettes College or the Royal Botanic Gardens would turn up their discriminating beaks at burgers or kebabs, even if we did leave any lying around. We’re Jocks and not about to waste food for which we have paid good money by throwing it away unfinished, however blootered we might happen to be.
In any case, we are a Waitrose area and our doves live on a nourishing diet of time- expired tahini, organic sweetcorn, mangetout,Duchy original produce etcetera etcetera or on failed Delia/Heston recipes. Our urban foxes are, as a result, the envy of most of the rest of the Embran vulpine community.
To be fair, there actually is no shelter at the bus stop.
#8 was a totally brilliant comment, by the way, and it had me rolling with laughter. I quite like Oz’s suggestion at #14 that we might work as a double act. I’ll get my people to get in touch with your people to see if we can work something out.
Aye weel, Boa. Ships that pass in the night.
There’s still a strong possibility that Mrs M and I will be in Queensland visiting her brother at the end of July and that I will miss the whole stramash at the Canongate anyway. Only time will tell.
Please don’t tell any of the onsite republicans but I’m already booked to miss the Wills v Kate match. We’ll be in Bordeaux or Angouleme for that one.
Soutie, good evening.
It would take a bold man to try to stop her being there if she wants to go. She’s her mother’s daughter, in my opinion.
I also personally believe that Mike Tindall is probably more scared of Princess Anne than he ever has been, or ever could be, of Martin ‘Hulk’ Johnson.
CO, good evening and thank you. Praise indeed and it means a lot to me.
Not that I’m nagging, but what would mean a lot more to me would be your retelling of the tale that was lost, due to Other Place incompetence, of the Falls Road, the high heels, the fur coat and the cut-glass English accent.
Only if you can find time to spare from pricking out your leeks, of course!
The world needs to be told that tale again to make it a better place, in my opinion.
John.
Sometimes, just sometimes, one can read a post which makes one suddenly remember why cyberspace is a Good Place to be.
My thanks.
JM, a veritable tour de force! 🙂
Hee Hee thanks Jay Em,
Uncannily accurate then, except for everything but the lack of shelter. 🙂
As for OZs suggestion, due to my geographical location I can speak jockanese as a second language, I am amongst the few sarf of the wall who get Rab C Nesbit. There are possibilities there but do you think the world is ready for it?
Get your people to call my people, we’ll do lunch.
Maybe.
On this occasion it is simply not enough just to press the “like” button. Most definitely the blog of the year…so far.
Brilliant post (and comments). Grasshopper, as ever, hangs on your every word and is not yet ready for the rice paper.
Thanks, Ara. Blushing furiously.
In truth, I think that cyberspace will always be a good place to be, so long as we never take it seriously.
Zara’s wedding would surely be the ideal opportunity to break your Jockland duck and to venture north to visit Embra? You could always employ Bilby as a guide as she has lived amongst us and has a working grasp of our language.
JW, thanks for #25 and well done to the Huns for yet another upwards shove of the UEFA league coefficient for Scotland against the flatlander Orangemen on Thursday.
Let’s just hope that super Caley go ballistic tomorrow.