How Prince Harry must marry: Decoding the royal wedding

Dear guest,

You are invited to the (of Suits) on May 19, 2018 at 12 noon at St George’s Chapel at Windsor Castle.

In deference to the 1,200 other invited guests, including the couple’s families, some of whom are, well, royal, please do not insist on sitting in the first row because you ran in first or spread your handkerchief upon the pew, to reserve your seat.

The dress code will be suits for men and day dresses for women. (We are not impressed that you stay in your pajamas all day — that won’t be allowed!) Your hat should resemble either a fruit salad, a hen coop or a five-piece drum set. It should be heavy enough to give you permanent spondylitis. And be wide enough to gouge out the eye of the person beside you.

Please do not speak during the ceremony. Not even to whisper how your niece would have made a better match, since like Meghan, she is biracial, coloured, older, divorced and American. The Queen’s dogs have approved, and so we’re fine with this fine young lady. (Of course, we are rather aghast that after all our propah rounded vowels, aaargh — the Harrghan kids are going to be ‘Dude this’ and ‘Like whatevva that’, the next time the Queen asks them to stick their pinkies out to drink tea. That hurts! And what if they begin to spell colour without the ‘u’?)

Some of the audience will comprise previous romantic partners of the groom and bride. You must not claim to be one and try to strike a deal with the media for a multimillion book deal.

Do not interrupt the bridal procession to click cellphone selfies with little Prince George or his sister, or ask why the Archbishop of Canterbury is a crook. He is not, he is carrying one. Please stop Instagramming and please keep your phone on silent, even if your cousins back home are calling to ask whether Priyanka’s dress covers her knees or not.

Lastly, remember, we are known for our stiff upper lip. No matter how hungry you are, you will wait for the lemon elderflower wedding cake which will be covered with butter icing and fresh flowers. We are not at liberty to divulge whether you can eat the flowers or not, but even if you’re ravenous, please refrain from eating the hat in front of you. To bad if it features a bunch of grapes swinging before your face.

Where Jane De Suza, the author of Happily Never After, talks about the week’s quirks, quacks and hacks.