It's My Special Day
The big news of, well, last week (hey, I've been busy) was Libby Lenton getting married, wearing a lovely white...tent. This she did because she'd signed a deal with a women's magazine to sell the wedding photos for more money than I'll earn in the next two years, and she has to protect the magazine's exclusive, or the deal's off. More and more celebrites are doing this lately, requesting that guests sign confidentiality clauses and not take photos, sometimes even not informing them of the location for the vows until immediatley before the ceremony, all so they can flog the photos of their day of days to Women's Doh or No Idea for perusal in doctor's waiting rooms three years after the fact.
And good luck to them say I. In fact, I think they don't go far enough. If I ever get married (and hey, in a world where Condileeza Rice thinks George W. Bush is a genius, anything is at least theoretically possible), I'm going to out do them all. I shall exchange wedding vows under a false name, or possibly even hire an actress to stand in for me. I'llave my face pixellated in all the wedding photos, be "beamed up, Scotty" to travel to my honeymoon, and deny ever after that any wedding ever took place.
In fact, how do you know that's not what I'm doing already?