The Dress

It appears that the media is sworn to secrecy.  Just as it avoids all mention of world peace, the 21st century Enlightenment, and most of the other topics for which my blog-pamphlets are...



...of some renown, the world's media believes that the dress of the decade should be a taboo topic for the next month.

Everyone of any importance wants to know what I shall be wearing in Westminster Abbey on Friday 29 April.  It is the most important news topic of the year, but, unfortunately, most of the news media is not particularly interested in good taste.  The focus will probably be on what the bride will be wearing, even though most brides nowadays show little imagination when thinking about suitable attire.

Marie Antoinette was hoping to be my main adviser on appropriate pew wear, especially as her dress sense normally includes cushioning on the rear of an outfit.  The seating provided in Gothic buildings otherwise tends to be rather uncomfortable.


Marie Antoinette has been mentioned in several of my previous postings, dear reader:


A name to remember

Impossible policies

Revolutionary stirrings - part four

The real Adelaide

Story time again - musical heritage



Another of my acquaintances wishes to be of assistance, too.  Suzanne Curchod Necker has previously assisted me in the appointment of a new professor at the International Training Centre for the Harmonious Interplay of Beauty, Understanding and Magnificence.  Does this provide her with the right credentials for the task at hand?

Madame Necker

I am not sure if Madame Necker speaks English well enough to accompany me to the entrance of the Abbey.  I am not even permitted to take a page, a pager or a telephonic contraption with me into the building.  There is also the possibility that any musical silver snuff box found in my possession during the ceremony will be confiscated by the Archbishop of Canterbury.  Weddings can be so inconvenient.

Mr Mozart has advised me that young Cherubino lacks the maturity required for the task of tying ribbons appropriately, and cannot be trusted to fulfil any of the duties required of him, apart from singing in the choir.  It is even likely that his voice will break quite soon.

Mr Mozart tells me that another page, by the name of Cherubieber, has also been causing disturbances in recent times, especially amongst the daughters of gardeners and those of a similar station in life.  My dress is, however, far more important than the behaviour of page boys.

My dear friend Jeanne-Louise-Henriette Campan has advised me to avoid wearing anything too complicated.  Ribbons can be a nuisance, but a well placed feather and a good book might be useful accessories.

My horses are already on their way to London and are looking forward to their stay in the Royal Mews.  They are, though, quite miffed that they have not also been allocated places in the pews.  They set off from Adelaide Oval early this morning by hot air balloon, accompanied by the Marquis d'Arlandes.  Here is a picture of them over the Torrens:

There was plenty of hot air at the oval, as usual, so they should be able to make good time.  The new supersonic device recently fitted to the balloon's global positioning system means that they should land in the gardens of Buckingham Palace by lunchtime tomorrow.  They are looking forward to sharing carrot canapés and silver champagne buckets of English tap water with the royal horses.


The Royal Mews

Westminster Abbey

Adelaide Oval

Buckingham Palace


My horses will be proceeding with the formalities in due course.  They will, indeed, be presenting the credentials to the Court of St James on my behalf.  I do hope they remember that the court at St James' Palace is not at all like those at the Memorial Drive Tennis Centre.  You may wish to know more about my horses, and about my invitation to the royal wedding:


Royal weddings and ethereal invitations 

From her horses mouths


You may also wish to know more about the following institutions:


St James' Palace

Memorial Drive Tennis Centre


Well, the Queen of Australia, as you know, is Queen Elizabeth I, just as she is in Scotland.  She is only Queen Elizabeth II in England, as far as my historical knowledge leads me to believe.

Queen Adelaide frequently reminds me that her own husband was never King of Australia.  In his day there were only a few colonies and provinces in this vicinity, the most important being South Australia.  He was, perhaps, King William I of South Australia, but all this talk about sovereignty is certainly not as important as thinking about what I should be wearing in Westminster Abbey a month from now.

Who should the designer of my dress be?  Should the fabric be Australian?  Should the designer be Australian?  Should the garment be made in Australia?  Should the design reflect the history and heritage of South Australia?

The adviser I have chosen is an expert on such matters.  Her name is Augusta Zadow.