Innit romantic? Millions keen to watch Meghan Markle sparkle

Memorabilia celebrating the the forthcoming wedding. Picture: AFP

So here we are, just hours away from what will be the royal wedding of the century or yet another Markle debacle, of which we’ve already had a few.

Not that the public’s not forgiving. We are so forgiving.

How could it be otherwise? It’s not like everyone doesn’t have a branch in their tribe like those who were exposed when the media decided to give Meghan Markle’s family tree a bit of a shake during the lead-up to today’s nuptials between Harry, who is sixth in line to the British throne, and Markle, a divorcee and television star descended from, among others, Africans who became slaves in the US state of Georgia.

Yes, we all have them. The drunken aunts and racist uncles. The drama about Meghan’s trashy family — hey, that’s the implication, and we all know it — has made the build-up to today’s big event all the more thrilling.

Don’t say you’re not thrilled.

This newspaper’s metrics — everyone’s metrics — expose you.

The royal wedding is the biggest event in the world, which is why today you will encounter British eccentrics in Union Jack onesies; or dressed as the Queen, as she is now, all near-blue hair, and squat tiaras; or running around with fine-bone china teapots, saying things like: “Cup of cha, ma’am?” The wedding is an opportunity to put out nibbles, and the bubbles, and indulge in everything British: the black cabs and the double-decker buses, the bobbies and corgis, the scones with cream (always first, if you’re royal) and jam.

That’s why you’ll also find a party behind a garage door, in pretty much every street.

Why? Well, it’s the love story, innit? “When Harry met Meghan” — it even sounds like a soap opera, which of course it is, except even better because it’s real life.

At the same time, it’s a fairytale. Here is a young couple — OK, not so young obviously, she’ll be 37 in August (Harry is 33), which in Queen Victoria’s day would have made her an old maid — who in a previous era never would have met — and now they are getting married. Tonight!

And every male in your circle has been ordered out to the pub, or maybe the footy, so the girls can stay home and watch.

Again, why?

Because if the “firm” had looked around for a bride to boost its fortunes in terms of public relations, this is a bullseye. Meghan is beautiful. She’s American. She’s also an actress (and, fun fact, she has beautiful handwriting, having supported herself, during a pilot season, as a calligraphy writer for weddings.)

She met Harry through a friend, who thought they’d get on.

They got on.

He took her to Botswana, where they camped — probably glamped — in tents in the scrub. It was, he has said, quiet time to truly get to know each other, and each liked what they saw. The engagement was duly announced, with Meghan looking dazzling in sky-high heels and a snow-white coat. Then came the digging: she’s older than Harry. She’s a divorcee. Her mother is African-American. A hundred years ago — maybe even 20 years ago — the marriage of a British prince and a woman of mixed heritage would have been unthinkable, and let’s be honest, there are some in the royal family and right up the aristocratic tree who probably think it still ought to be. Wouldn’t you kill to hear Prince Philip, uncut, on the ­subject?

If that were not enough, got a deadbeat dad, or so some of the British red-tops would have you believe. (She says she has always “cared for” her father, who left the family home when she was six, and if that is not the biggest backhander you can give the old man on the eve of your wedding, I don’t know what is).

Still, she was fresh air, bringing Hollywood glamour. The girl knows how to dress. The cigarette pants. The towering heels. The camel coat with the gumnut hat, on the day she met the Queen.

It was all very interesting, as news that the couple would be married not at Westminster but at St George’s Chapel, just inside the gates of Windsor Castle. (Fun fact: Windsor Castle is the oldest inhabited castle in the world. The family — the firm — took their name from this town about 100 ago.)

And so we braced for ­pageantry. Pomp and sparkle. Meghan Markle. And then came the debacle.

She is one of six kids born to a former lighting hand, Thomas Markle, but she’s the only one of her parents’ union. Over time, it has been revealed that Harry has never met him. Isn’t that something you’re supposed to do?

Ask for her hand?

The press began to speculate: maybe it was something to do with Dad giving up responsibility for taking care of Meghan three decades ago? A story started going around that he was some kind of hermit. If so, not for long.

The media tracked him down to Mexico, and got him to pose for some paparazzi shots, looking wistfully at Meghan and Harry’s Wikipedia page.

Apparently he took money.

Uproar ensued, helped along by the fairytale’s other necessary element — the evil stepsister, or half-sister, Samantha Grant, who says the palace essentially has tortured her father (truly, she does not know her British history) by refusing to fly him to London, or give him any details as to how he might get there in time for the wedding, and by not protecting him from the paps.

Then he had some kind of heart palpitation and underwent an emergency operation.

He’s now recovered and this week told TMZ he still wanted to walk his daughter down the aisle as she married Prince Harry. “I hate the idea of missing one of the greatest moments in history and walking my daughter down the aisle.”

You’ll note, if he didn’t, the order of his priorities.

Well, no way, Jose.

The statement, issued by the palace that now controls Meghan’s every utterance reads:

“Sadly my father will not be attending my wedding … I would like to thank everyone who has offered generous messages of support. Please know how much Harry and I look forward to sharing our special day with you on Saturday.”

The Daily Mail in Britain declared all this a PR disaster. Are they kidding? It’s a PR bonanza. You couldn’t produce a better script. She has the sympathy of the entire world. OK, so her family isn’t posh but whose is, compared to the royals?

Now the half-sister, Samantha, has turned up in hospital with a broken bone in her foot after a car crash with paparazzi.

This gave rise to an excellent meme: the Queen walking alongside James Bond, saying: “Both the father AND the sister now in hospital? Well done, James. Well done.”

With that lot out of the way, we are finally at “get me to the church on time”.

It’s a Saturday wedding in ­England, meaning Friday night was spent by many people in a pub with warm beer on tap and Union Jack bunting, and by now they’ll all be out by the barricades, hoping for a glimpse of the ­carriage.

According to the official schedule, the couple will be married at noon (9pm on the east coast of Australia); there will be a carriage ride through the streets of Windsor at 1pm (or 10pm); an afternoon reception for 800 guests, hosted by the Queen; and an evening party at Frogmore House, hosted by the Prince of Wales.

You can watch on TV, starting now probably since the networks have every detail covered, and when I say every detail, well, there won’t be any fruit cake, for example. There will be organic lemon and elderflower wedding cake, representing an enormous break with tradition (not so big, perhaps, as marrying a lapsed Catholic, yet still worth mentioning).

Pretty much everyone you know will be watching. Even the Australian republicans have gone a little mush.

Peter FitzSimons, who is chairman of the Australian Republic Movement, wrote a piece for them over there at Fairfax Media this week, headlined: “You can be a republican and welcome a royal wedding.”

Well, to paraphrase, he would say that, wouldn’t he?

His own bride, the radiant Lisa Wilkinson, is in London for Ten.

“I am expected to sneer, but not this little black duck … We can enjoy the wedding for the same reason we all love a good wedding — it is wonderful to see love triumph,” he wrote.

Fitz says the hysteria — yes, I think we’re there — about the royal wedding doesn’t undercut Australia’s chances of becoming a republic. “Not remotely,” he said, confidently.

Look, this is going to put me on a collision course with what might be described as the Red Bandana side of the argument but yeah, but no. The republic? Currently doomed. By which I mean, were the referendum held tomorrow, it would sink like a stone heavier than the Star of Africa.

Is the coverage a bit over the top? Sure. Seven’s Morning Show was running a ticker that said: “Just one more sleep until the golden couple wed!”

Until this week, much of the anticipation was about the dress. White or ivory? Silk or lace? Shoulders or no (almost certainly no). Also Eugenie. Will she wear a hat? If so, how stupid will it be?

Then came a proper drama: who would walk Meghan down the aisle?

The smart money was, for a time, on her mum, Doria Ragland, who arrived in London earlier this week. She seemed a perfect choice, having reared Meghan largely on her own, on a social worker’s salary; plus how good would it look, to have a woman?

But no, Kensington Palace said in a statement last night: “Ms Meghan Markle has asked His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, to accompany her down the aisle of the Quire of St George’s Chapel on her wedding day.”

That means Charles, who cheated on, then divorced Harry’s mother. Not quite the fairytale, and certainly not the one many people wanted, which was for Harry, clearly desperate to take care of his bride, to turn as Meghan arrives at the doorway of the church and march himself down the aisle, take her by the hand, and drag her up to the altar, to be forever by his side.