Miss a post, or want to read from the beginning? Click here.
I figured this would be the hardest post to write, and probably also to read. To write, because I may have to explain why I get so teeny-bopper excited over the British royal family, and I have no justification. To read, because most of you aren’t going to care one whit. So, I’ll give you an out — there is lots of mooning and fawning over royals to come, so I’m not offended if you need to cut out. I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. (Har, har, har.)
As Day 4 dawned, I woke early and tubed over St. Paul’s Cathedral, site of the morning Diamond Jubilee Thanksgiving service, which was to begin at 10:30 a.m. Most of the streets were blocked, so I had a heck of a time actually getting to the cathedral, and I passed groups of men and women in full church attire making their way to the service. How’d they get to be so special?
I don’t know why I’m so enamored by royalty — maybe it’s the fairy tale and the glamour, the pomp and circumstance, the observance and appreciation for history, social etiquette and tradition, or just the dynamics of a large, extended, dysfunctional family. One of my earliest memories is of getting up early to watch Princess Diana’s wedding with my mom — pretty amazing, since I was 4. 
South & Sundry 