Kate Expectations

For some reason best known to a person who isn’t me, we were both awake ridiculously early. Carole, obviously, had to get up to get ready for work or whatever other witchcraft she does in the early hours of the morning, I was quite content to go back to sleep for a little bit.

And once I’d got through the chatting, drying of hair and general nonsense and ninja-like stealth that sees Carole leave the house, I managed to drift back off into the land of nod. Lightly. Just letting the world pass me by.

And then my phone startled me to alertness.

For some reason best known to itself, the sound – which I usually leave off – was on. I can only assume I’d caught the button in some way, but whatever the cause I was woken up by the sounds that play when there is a Breaking News story on Sky. It’s a wonderful tune, like a really dramatic news show sort of thing. Surely this heralds something huge – news of the hurricanes currently ripping the crap out of everywhere, maybe North Korea has done a thing, perhaps Trump has been uncharacteristically rude and obnoxious.


The Duchess of Cambridge can’t take George to school on his first day because she’s unwell.

I was woken up for that.

And it’s going to be things like that – involving what Kate can and can’t do in a morning – until she has this next baby because she has really bad morning sickness that shows have to do an in-depth report on because she’s so brave etc.

But bloody hell, I could care less whether she took George to school or not. William was there to do it, so it’s not like they just bundled the little shorts-wearing proto-monarch off on his own with a rucksack on and just wished him the best in finding his way from Kensington Palace to wherever it is he’s at school, Hogwarts or whatever.

I mean, if the next thing to come through from Sky had been “Breaking: Kate’s friend Angie has offered to George in to school today, and collect him after school as well” then I would have been more interested.

Not much.

But a little bit.

And, of course, when it gets round to Charlotte’s turn for going to school, if she does manage to take her in then we’ll have news stories saying things like “… because, of course, she was unable to take George to school on his first day…”

But, really, I’d have bloody loved it if she’d gone through with it – if she’d got up in the morning, feeling like absolute shite, but knowing that she had to get George to school no matter what. And then the papers, and the various news programmes could have carried pictures of her in some scruffy sweat pants and her husband’s jumper – with dried porridge on it – dropping George off for school while swigging Gaviscon straight out of the bottle.

Maybe next time, eh?