I see that it’s going to be a bit drizzly and about 66 degrees on Friday, not bad for Sir for golf, but, it matters not, ’tis on the other side of the pond. ’Tis in London.

I see that it’s going to be a bit drizzly and about 66 degrees on Friday, not bad for Sir for golf, but, it matters not, ’tis on the other side of the pond. ’Tis in London.

Not a bad temperature in which to be married, though. Far better 66 and drizzle than 110 and blazing sunshine, I’ve always said. And carting all those dear old dears out to the folding metal chairs, which have reached the approximate temperature of the core of the sun, first so they don’t have to stand around waiting – well it doesn’t bear thinking of now does it?

No, I’m sure Westminster Abbey will be absolutely beautiful. No air conditioning required in that marvelous, old, solid-stone edifice, although with the crush of people the odd punkawallah wouldn’t go amiss, surely someone from the days of the Raj could come up with a fan fanner, after all.

Ladbrokes, the British bookie institution, and loads of others like it, are going positively potty with Royal bets. I’m positive this is where we Aussies get our irreverence from the days of yore. The odd Cockney “’aving a bit of a wager on the side, you know what I mean, Guv?”

Aussies, as you may know, with lack of anything better to do at the time, will bet on the winner of two flies climbing a wall. And it’s not just a bet, it goes into full-blooded know-it-all, know positively nothing repartee.

“I’ve seen that fly before. He could whip round a Royal pony’s left nostril and land in your shepherd’s pie before you could down that pint, mate.” This, of course, must be uttered in a good nasal twang, the achievement of which is to implant two wads of chewing gum up each nostril – yours, not the horse’s.

Color of the Queen’s hat – now let’s see, I think we have on offer yellow (a heavy favorite), with light blue coming next in line. Actually I just spotted a pic of Liz in a lovely shade of mauve, and I’m going with that one. Let us all fervently hope she doesn’t go with the lime green she sported at a not long past Kentucky Derby – the was decidedly bilious and should immediately be tossed on the Royal bonfire.

The odds run at 25-to-1 when it comes to someone raising an objection at the appropriate time. Now, I wonder, who would have the cojones to stand up, in Westminster Abbey, not only with the Royal Family, but every branch of the British armed forces, M-16, Interpol and all the rest securing the joint? No, I think they’re off their nutters on that one. I’d go with a million to one on that bet.

Kate and Will’s first dance will apparently be a choice of “You’re Beautiful” by James Blunt, Elton John’s “Something About the Way You Look Tonight,” Aerosmith’s “Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing” (hardly the Queen’s English, there), or Bryan Adam’s “Everything I Do.”

All good songs, but please, give me a breakette. Kate and Will were born in the ’80s and grew up to ’90s music, so it will probably be more modern than that.

Just so long as it’s not “Like a Virgin” by Madonna or “Who Let the Dogs Out” by Lord-alone-knows-who, I think everyone will be happy.

According to the bookies, the Queen and Prince Phillip will doze off during the ceremony, but I don’t see that happening. After all, the Royal Spotlight, being what it is, will ensure that the entire family is on goodly amounts of No-Doze and coffee to ensure no commoner will have the opportunity to slag off at the entire production.

And for the truly cynical, the odds now sit at 100-to-1 that Kate will leave Will at the altar. Now that’s just cold – in my book.

Actually, I’m making a lot of fun of the Royal Wedding on Friday, but truth be told I have instructed Sir, on pain of a trip to the store – a fate worse than death in his mind, let me tell you – that he must record it for me. Enthusiastic as I am, getting up at 4 a.m. is not in my play list.

Prince William, is, after all, only 10 weeks older than my darling daughter Madam. Love her as I do – and trust me, I do – being a royal bride was never one of my aspirations for her. Not too long after William’s birth, we witnessed the humiliating and tragic demise of his mother, not a life I would wish upon anyone, let alone my nearest and dearest.

I am thoroughly looking forward to the wedding. I, as an Aussie, still am subject to the British Crown. The Australians have made a half-hearted attempt at getting out from under the Regal Thumb, but the truth is I think a lot of the British Commonwealth finds safety being under the Royal Digit.

After all, no British monarch has been assassinated, no British monarch has had his or her birth certificate questioned, and everything really does roll along in a quite tickety-boo fashion.

Roll on pomp and circumstance, I’ll be there waving you on, Your Royal Highnesses.

Just please don’t let QEII wear lime green.