The prospect of even a 'low-key' Royal Wedding hullabaloo to divert the masses from their own squalid austerity makes me want to hurl. 'Deja vu all over again'....and I was much less warped and crabby then, so I see myself doing a lot of old-lady muttering.
Last time, a BF and I fled to Dartmoor for a media-less break, involving a fair portion of nookie in a chintzy B&B, and a jolly old eccentric who led a nature walk without once mentioning The Feckin' Wedding. Excellent...BTW, if I were in their place, I don't think I'd be all that keen to re-cycle St Diana's ill-omened engagement ring...
I hauled myself out, after several days banged up indoors.( I had another night o'torment on my fancy new bed of pain last night, but I HAD to get out for a while before I went completely psycho.) I just went down to Clapham Junction for multi-buy Tropicana and cat litter, but it was a lovely change.
Lots of reflector jackets mulling about downstairs, but no further mention of The Explosion.