Clik here to view.
Prince Dimitri of Yugoslavia did not receive an invite - and he's been impertinent enough to comment
• A care package of sedatives is hereby dispatched to to the Sun, which somehow contrives to dredge up exclusive front-page outrage at the fact that the king of Cambodia hasn't replied to his invitation to the royal wedding. Thus he has "sensationally snubbed" it, the paper decides, with the description of King Norodom Sihamoni as a "shaven headed former ballet dancer", presumably designed to underscore this ingrate foreigner's fly-by-night credentials. One doesn't go to the Sun for history lessons, of course, but the paper does seem to have slightly underestimated the Cambodian royal family. After all, in terms of survival stories, it royal wees on the House of Windsor, having outlasted all manner of wildly adversarial situations by any foul or fair means necessary. In contrast, there is genuine speculation as to whether our own monarchy can withstand being passed to a chap with somewhat juvenile views on architecture and a misplaced interest in homeopathy. These are rather less formidable foes than the Khmer Rouge, on balance, and a copy of the Ladybird Guide to South-East Asia is also on its way to editor Dominic Mohan.
• Speaking of the guest list, though, it is most disappointing to find some of the third tier European princelings unable to hide their bitterness at being NFI. Prince Dimitri of Yugoslavia did not receive the call-up, and is – coincidentally or otherwise – moved to comment on the catering arrangements of the Queen's Buckingham Palace reception, at which only canapes and cake will be served. "It sounds very strange," he tells the New York Times. "From what I remember at all the other royal weddings I went to, we were served the best lunch possible." Did you ever hear such impertinence? One's immediate reaction is to declare that Dimitri's family deserve to be relieved of their crown for this display of vulgarity – though closer investigation reveals this was pre-emptively taken care of in 1945. Not a minute too soon, on this form.
• Today's royal superfan is Jerramy Fine, proprietor of a borderline disturbing London summer camp called Princess Prep. Here, parents are invited to send their eight to 11-year-old girls for schooling in the ways of a princess. For those picturing charmingly bowdlerised masterclasses in bulimia and turning a blind eye to the mistress, however, there is disappointment. "Your little princess is housed with seven other girls in a luxury flat located in the heart of Kensington and Chelsea," Jerramy's prospectus promises. "All meals are freshly prepared and served by Jeeves, our resident butler," it goes on, "and each meal includes lessons in traditional etiquette ... Staff, including trained night nannies (not unlike Mary Poppins) meet the girls at the airport and supervise them 24 hours a day." Discussion topics cover such vital subjects as "Crown Princess Victoria of Sweden", while daily deportment lessons include lectures on "Using the bread plate" and "Awkward moments – spillages, coughing fits". The wider curriculum focuses on "manners and etiquette, royal history, philanthropy and horse-riding" – and it all clocks in at a competitive £2,500 a week. What can one say? Other than: tut tut, Jerramy! One NEVER refers to "horse-riding". It is simply "riding". The horse is assumed.
