As I didn’t say to Emily Maitlis on the BBC News channel Royal Wedding coverage yesterday, ‘there are two big boobs in Princess Eugenie’s get-up: the skirt’s too short and the bodice would panic the cat’. Both Princess Eugenie and Princess Beatrice had gone a little overboard on the mascara and looked not dissimilar to those dear deceased Chinese pandas called Chi-Chi and Cha-Cha or some such. You know I adore Philip Treacy, Rowley, but I didn’t know whether to applaud Princess Beatrice’s bravery in wearing such a complicated titfer or allow the hamster to have a go on it for half an hour. This is something I did say to Emily Maitlis whose eyes were out on stalks.
You mustn’t be so wicked about Victoria Beckham. She didn’t wear black to Westminster Abbey. She did, however, wear midnight blue silk maternity wear totally in-keeping with her condition and a rather neat little veiled hat. But don’t you get bored of women who insist on hanging off their chaps like so many spider monkeys? I think it is definitely a hangover from the Rebecca Loose days. Then again, Mr Beckham did look dashing with his Rock Hudson quiff and lovely morning tails. Who is his tailor these days Rowley? Tom Ford I’ll trow.
I made a BBC News channel prediction the morning before the wedding that Speaker’s wife ‘Sally the Alley’ Bercow would make a show of herself in the Abbey. True to form, she wore a black lace dress that displayed cleavage that you could park a JCB in between. When she took her front row seat with her little button of a husband – a dead ringer for Barnum & Bailey’s singing midget Tom Thumb – she flashed more leg than a Las Vegas chorine. A few more inches and we would be staring right up her Prospect of Whitby.
Didn’t Tara Palmer Tomkinson surpass herself in royal blue Deborah Milner, Christian Louboutin vertiginous heels and a sharp Philip Treacy hat that I swear almost had her sister Santa’s eye out? So wickedly, rakishly styled was the nasally challenged Miss PT that I believe even Cruella de Ville would have thought twice about wearing such an outfit for fear of giving the game away. Still, well done Prince William’s former beau Jecca Craig for doing her utmost not to outshine the new Duchess of Cambridge in a suit that could only be described as the colour of hospital bandage and a hat that looked as if someone had just shot a crow.
I also had a pop at Prime Minister Cameron’s wife – she christened by Private Eye as Sam Cam Pram Mam – for perversely refusing to obey the rules of formal day dress that she has known from birth and eschewing a hat in favour of a smattering of Erdem diamond hair ornaments in her barnet. The green Burberry dress was divine as was the orange pashmina but would it have hurt for a thoroughbred such as Mrs Cameron to wear a matching orange saucer hat by a maestro such as Philip Treacy, Stephen Jones or Rachel Trevor-Morgan? Not cricket, I feel, particularly when your sister is the deputy editor of Vogue and should know better.
Still, Mrs Cameron wasn’t the only politician’s wife to make a show of herself at the Abbey. Glad to see Mr Clegg in a grey three piece morning coat but did he have to make it so obvious that it was hired rather than bespoke Savile Row. Mrs Clegg is pretty. She is also Spanish which may explain why she misread the dress code and felt compelled to turn up in national costume: a black dotty net dress with ruffles on the shoulder and an explosion of dodgy matador’s cape red feathers on her head. The hair was scraped back into a Maria Callas style updo and she accessorised with black stilettos that Ava Gardner would consider de trop and black leather gloves that haven’t been seen since a meeting of the Max Mosley Appreciation Society.
Didn’t Chelsey Davy look a bugger? No wonder the BBC crew kept the cameras away from her green Alberta Ferretti off the shoulder skirt suit. It was more My Big Fat South African Gypsy Wedding than Abbey quality. The poor dear has the look of Coleen Rooney doesn’t she? As Vogue has proved in previous Mrs Rooney makeover spreads, you can style, airbrush, back comb and make-up all you like but this does not a classy blonde make. Note to Fern Cotton.
As they say in Hollywood, if you haven’t got anything nice to say about anyone come sit down next to me. As it happened, I did manage to save the best till last and got a chance to orate about the new Duchess of Cambridge’s miraculous Alexander McQueen wedding dress and the Grecian goddess gown she wore to the party at the Palace at about 8pm on the day for BBC News. It must have gone down well because Tom Ford’s lovely design director Peter Hawkins wrote me a lovely email saying ‘well said that man’. I’ll get it posted on t’Internet tomorrow if at all possible because I did spiel some purple prose that I thought rose to the occasion.