It was the day of the England match, no not the ridiculously predictable one against Germany, but the one we actually won against Slovenia or Slovakia or someone like that. We had been let out of work early so that everyone could watch the match.
Of course, not really being a fan of football and generally finding the synthetic fibre-y-ness of football uniforms pretty awful, I was fairly uninterested. I'll watch men in crisp white tennis outfits on TV relatively happily, or even cricket, but football is really only exciting if you're actually there. Or drunk. Or if it's a hugely significant match and you're with all your friends. I was sober and in Southwark surrounded by office types who had all also been let out early and the idea of cramming into a smelly pub with them was quite horrible.
So I went for a stroll along the Southbank, up towards the Royal Festival Hall. It just so happens that around the same time I was wandering along, the Royals were preparing to arrive at said Festival Hall for Prince William's convocation into the Royal Society. So I joined the small handful of onlookers and paparazzi and the vast number of Festival Hall staff, security and police, to watch them arrive.
I even managed to take some pictures.
Let's start with Wills. Prince William really isn't hot. He has a very noticeable bald patch developing. I would need some serious gifts to go there. Maybe my own yacht would do it. But he is good at safe, boring suits. He gives them a bit of a James Bondish edge - very English, very plummy, a little bit dashing despite the bald spot. I don't know who this one is by, but I think a bit of Burberry and Dunhill would work for William. Kim Jones could work wonders on that man. Maybe after that I wouldn't need the yacht.
Princess Anne is definitely my favourite of the bunch. She's managed to have the same 70's Edwardian revival hairstyle for more than forty years now, which you have to respect. And she never has to go through the painful ritual of brushing out the backcombing. And look, she's rocking this summer's nudes! Plus those pearls. Those pearls are the only thing I actually want from the Royal family.
Now let's look at the matriarch. Frankly there is no excuse for this. I actually quite like the Queen, but this is just heinous, isn't it? There are hundreds of young, talented designers who could seriously benefit from her majesty's patronage but she chooses to go out in this. Who is this by? They should be ashamed of themselves. Ick.
Although she does have an awesome car...
This week has also been good for spotting royalty. Well, fashion royalty anyway. Sadly I didn't have my camera with me, but I was waiting for my dad at the Eurostar arrivals door in St Pancras when out walks none other than Giles Deacon. He was in a very snug fitting breton t and his trademark glasses and he was with a woman was carrying a very large pink Ungaro bag. What do you mean did you try and speak to him? What do you think I am, a journalist or something? Um...