I've been working in newspapers for much too long. I was in conversation with someone about celebrities and I actually said 'Welsh songbird Charlotte Church'.
Next I'll be ringing home and saying 'is that curvy mum Sue, it's your husband, Mark, 47, from Ilford, east London, he fumed' before talking about 'suburban love nests', revealing how much the house is worth and referring to 'a sex act'. Though chance would be a fine thing.
Newspapers always describe Ilford as east London rather than Essex by the way. Never quite got that.
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Blah blah...what a lovely couple...blah blah...biggest royal event since 1981...blah blah...if only his mum was here to see it...blah blah...bet they won't have a wedding list at Harrods.
Perhaps it's the similarities rather than the differences which are most interesting. When Wills 'n Kate (as they are officially to be known) announced their engagement yesterday, readers of online newspapers rushed to make their comments.
What was noticeable was that on both The Guardian and Daily Mail's sites, among the first comments was: "Are we having to pay for this?"
Mail readers, of course, love royal weddings but object to anything that costs taxpayers money while Guardian readers love public sector spending but hate royalty.
Unlike The Sun comments section, where the best one for me was 'Is Kate up the duff then?' Don't you just love the earthy humour of the plebs.
One of my more erudite friends commented on my Facebook page 'bread and circuses' except he did it in the original Latin, the smartypants. That's a grammar school education for you.
Personally I'm making bunting out of old copies of the Telegraph Saturday supplement and organising a street party for the big day. I trust we'll all get a day off won't we?
And if we can recreate the spirit of Chas and Di's wedding in 1981 then all the better. I understand Toxteth and Brixton are making celebratory Molatov Cocktails as we speak while my old schoolmate Marc Fox is going to reform Haircut 100. And he still hasn't added me as a Facebook friend!
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That advert for Iceland (yes, I know, I'm obsessed) which shows all those 'real' women doing the can can with Jason Donovan...why don't they cut the crap and just call them MILFs rather than 'mums'. We all know that's what they're thinking.
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Talking of TV - for a change - The Trip. I think it's absolutely brilliant but I seem to be in the minority. For me, Steve Coogan playing himself as an obsessed, insecure, over compensating, pretentious and competitive lothario is a piece of pure genius. It may reflect who he really is or how he thinks the rest of the world sees him but as far as I'm concerned, and I realise this is just my opinion, I think that is why I am just completely in awe of the guy, for all his faults. A haaaaaaaaa!
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I pointed out, on F/B of course, the most wonderful obituary in today's paper of the Rev Roger Holloway who had been in the army, a big game hunter, a leading figure in the wine industry, a charity fundraiser and then an Anglican vicar as well as sharing a plane with Iron Maiden and various other feats. What a fantastic life, I mentioned. Ah yes, replied my chum Tom Savage, but he's no Tanky Challenor.
And indeed he isn't. All you need to know about Tanky is this one line description from the Daily Telegraph following his death in 2008.
"Soldier who won a Military Medal with the SAS, became a fearsome detective in Soho, and was later declared insane." Brilliant, quite brilliant.
Every day is a different Logan Mountstuart who has just passed on.
According to another story in the Telegraph, people who live their lives slowly will live longer. Looks like I'm going to live to 150 then. And not 54 as I'm supposed to (I'll explain another day).
Three cheers to the happy couple and vive la republic...Solly
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