Apparently women all over the world are gutted that George Clooney has got married. That’s according to headline writers anyway.
There are several reasons that most women I know are not gutted- maybe they’re already happily married, they’ve never met the bloke, they don’t fancy having everyone in the world nebbing at their wedding dress or they don’t like Vietnamese pot bellied pigs or Nespresso machines. To name but a few.
His wife Amal Alamuddin seems a very impressive person. She’s a human rights lawyer. But we now also know more about what she wore and what she did over a four day period in Venice than we probably do about what our best mates did on their last long weekend away.Even if they’re Facebook fanatics who tag us into their every meal out and amusing hat-biting incident.
Apparently the whole thing cost a good few hundred thousand pounds which, balanced against human rights, seems utterly obscene to me.
I can barely get my head round the cost of an average wedding as it is. Eighteen thousand pounds and rising. It was heartening therefore to see a documentary about £999 weddings this week. That was about the cost of my own too. £250 for the little room above St Mary’s Lighthouse, £250 for the registrar, £100 for my Monsoon dress, £150 for suit hire, £70 for rings and £30 for a bouquet and buttonholes.
Guests brought all manner of exciting things for the buffet and a friend did us some lovely photos. I can’t imagine a better day, whose only cloud on the horizon was that the coalition entered into their marriage the following day and the world changed for the worse.
As far as I know, I’m not suffering a psychotic breakdown, but if I was then I’d have to stop watching telly adverts quite soon. They have started talking to me.
No, they actually have. I was catching up on Educating Essex on 4ondemand and being quite happy that a performance poet was shown leading a workshop and providing a cathartic moment for a student whose parents were separating by encouraging her to write a poem.
Then an ad for Burberry perfume came on. Models swirling about like they were at a Venetian wedding, the usual stuff.
The screen said “Monogrammed for you Kate”. I was a bit surprised, but then Kate Moss came on and I felt silly.
The dog did mistake a photo of her on a bus stop for me the other day and run up to it with his tail wagging, but that’s the only time me and Kate Moss would ever be confused.
Then they showed the bottle of perfume. It had my initials on it- “KF” and again said “Monogrammed for you”. Wooah. Somehow, my computer and Channel 4 registration had told the telly who I was. Can you imagine going to the Doctor with that.
“My telly’s talking to me and the adverts are aimed at me personally”. “Yeah right, you can watch lots of telly when we commit you. Off you pop”.
What next? Adverts putting your name on bottles of weight loss pills? Your own name signed next to George Clooney’s on a wedding certificate in his next coffee ad? The future is branded with ourselves...and it looks scary.