Thursday 28th April

Annabelle and I were brushing our teeth this morning when she swilled, spat and asked which night the new, royal program was going to be on.

It seems that she is under the impression that the marriage of the future King of England is, in fact, an ITV soap opera of some kind that will end up causing her the same amount of scheduling confusion as the whole X Factor, Strictly Come Dancing debacle of November 2009.

I had to explain to her that when Kate and Wills walk down the aisle, that its for real and that we won’t in fact be watching the pilot episode of The Windsors: Season Two.

Or will we?

Since the tragic death of Diana in 1997, The Windsors have been without a leading lady of any substance. Britain as a whole, lost interest in the remaining characters which, for those of you who didn’t watch Season One are as follows;

Charlie: The cheating-git- husband and K’milla: the grotesque, canker–sore of a mistress that he ran off with.

Andy:  The lecherous uncle who is easily led and frequently succumbs to the peer pressure of his paedophilic pals, which often ends up getting him in a bit of strife with the papers .

Sarah: The hapless spendthrift who isn’t bright enough to figure out that, at her age, dancing the funky chicken on board a yacht in the south pacific isn’t such a brilliant idea. Even less so when you’re so drunk that your baps are flapping around all over the place and you have just declared yourself bankrupt (for the eighth time).

Then there’s Grandma: The old grumpy one who has that TV show on the 25th of December every year where she tells the penniless public what they should be feeling grateful for.

Sometimes she also moans a bit about what a bitch her year has been but having grabbed the prime-time ratings for the day, she sods off back to Let-them-eat-cake Mansions and spends the rest of the year avoiding her adoring public like the pox-ridden termites she clearly believes them to be.

Last but not least, there’s Grampy-Phil. Now Grampy-Phil is a bit of a buffoon and often says the most outrageously rude, insensitive and downright racist things you can imagine. Old bugger that he is, he is excused the media glare of any responsibility for his actions because he’s a ‘bloody good shot’.

Being a ‘bloody good shot’ is dead important when you spend your days challenging your own limited intelligence by outwitting the innocent creatures of the forest with a twelve-bore shot-gun.

 I don’t really get it personally, but then I already know that I’m smarter than a pheasant.

Since our new heroine has a mother who once worked as an air hostess (apparently Will’s mates snigger and say “Doors to manual” every time she walks into the room), and at university earned herself a reputation as one half of the ‘Wisteria Sisters’ (so called because of their ferocious ability to climb), it looks like Season Two is going to be a belter.

And on the plus side, at least we can all stop pretending now that Trout-Pout-Beckham is our leading lady.

I’m afraid that Princess Wisteria and The Windsors simply have it licked.