I need to preface this blog post with one of my greatest dreams. I have always wanted to be in attendance at a huge world event. (Preferably not a natural disaster.) In my imagination, it has always been at the Vatican when the next Pope is selected or at the coronation of the next king of England. Now, I will proceed.

I am basically a celebrity without actually being famous. Every day, I do situps, yoga, I run like Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest (it this means nothing to you, look it up!), I walk, and I bicycle, amongst many other things. When I’m alone, I practice my singing. I am not a good singer, but if Kim Kardashian and Ke$ha can do it, I am determined to give it a try. When I read while on the treadmill, if I’m not pretending I’m stomping it out on a Chanel runway, I read aloud to improve my speaking voice and make sure that my diction is superb and crisp. I dress well and refuse to be seen in commoner’s clothing by anybody but my immediate family. I do all of this and more because I am determined to be a beloved celebrity one day. I want to be so famous that people I don’t even know pay to celebrate my birthday with me and the world slows to a halt on the long-distant day when I die. As I type this, I realize that this paragraph has very little to do with what this blog post is about, but I like it, so I am going to keep it.

An integral part of celebrity life is jet-setting from one continent to another on a regular basis for business meetings, premieres, fashion shows, signings, on-site shooting, and power lunches with other celebrities of equal standing. I, myself, will be jet-setting from continent to continent twice in one week at the end of April. On the 27th of that month, I will be flying to England to attend the wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton. Shortly after their espousal, I will return to America for a brief rest before departing to summer in France. I like to think of my frequent jaunts to the Continent as training for when I finally begin work with Anna Wintour at Vogue, attending all the shows and meeting Karl for coffee and chatting. (I recently watched The September Issue and have become totally enamored with the world of fashion media. While my dreams of fashion began with longing to be a contest on America’s Next Top Model, my designer dreams have expanded. I would still love to be a model, but I would also like to be a fashion photographer, a fashion editor, and maybe if I can manage it, open a couture house for both men and women’s fashions that are timeless and reasonably affordable. I already have my first collection designed in my head, I just can’t translate it to paper for some reason, and I do not yet have much experience with piecing garments together. Maybe I should take a class…)

Now, I am loathe to admit it, but I have not yet received my invitation to the Royal Wedding — surely just a problem with the Post, but I am still going even if I have to stand along the streets watching the carriage like a commoner (and Fergie.) I suppose it will do me some good to be amongst these simple people. In a few years I will have forgotten what it was like to be one of them, when I will have grown accustomed to bathing in pink champagne and eating truffles like candy.

So, Mother and I are going to be in London for the wedding. We both have a rather irrational love for the Royal family. I assume I’ll pull a Grace Kelly one day and join them–some royal family somewhere. I assure you, I will be a bitching prince and later, a bitching king. I’d like to be kind of like Evita. I’m no Peronist and I realize that most of what is known about her is due to propaganda, but I love the idea of her charity that helped everybody. You didn’t have to be handicapped or diseased to get a little special treatment, you could be anybody. I love that. Everybody needs pats on backs sometimes as my future good friend, Queen Elizabeth II once said.

[If at all possible, I would like this, or something like it to be my portrait hung in the National Gallery. Cheeky, yet refined.]

We will be in London for about four days and I totally intend to do everything I possibly can. I’ve already made a listing of the things that I simply have to do while I am in the capital, but before I begin detailing all that excitement, I must share with you a dilemma that I am going through…what does one wear to a royal occasion? I know that I should wear a tweed jacket or maybe a grey, two-button suit with a herringbone pattern, but I have neither and sadly don’t want to dole out the cash when I’m leaving for Paris a week later. I have gone through my clothing and all my formal wear has become too large for me. I am probably going to have to go a tailor, but I don’t know if even their talents can save me from swimming in vintage Dior. What now follows is an impromptu photoshoot as I was trying to find the perfect outfit. I mean, when Camilla, Charles, and the crew see me, I want to stand out–they simply must invite me over for champagne!

[This is a good look, I look like I’m in a glasses ad in a glossy magazine.]

[In this one, I look like Joseph Cotton’s grandson. Only much more handsome.]

Once this was over, I realized that I had nothing regal enough. I will have to go shopping, I suppose. I simply can’t look well-dressed, I must look cultured. I will certainly share with you what I find before the big day. Now, we can talk about all the things that we are going to do on our long weekend in London town — well, not we — me.

It goes without saying that I love Harrods and that Harrods loves me. If you are unfamiliar (and shame on you if you are) Harrods is simply the most splendid department store in the world! I have been to many a glamorous department store in my time, but this one has them all beat tenfold. For God’s sake, the walls are gilded in some rooms! I don’t even know how to properly describe Harrods to you and do it justice. I will just tell you the things I love. One floor is totally devoted to food and foodstuffs. Before I was a vegetarian, I liked to go to the rotisserie and eat a roast chicken with potatoes. Sounds simple, but it was divine, and the receipt can vouch for that. There is a candy store with every candy you can imagine and thousands you have never yet dreamt of. There is an organic vegetable market with only the most perfect fruits and vegetables — no specks of dirt nor blemishes. They don’t look real. There is a pet shop where you can get the perfect little chihuahua and everything you need for the rest of its life. You can even get Harrods branded doggie bags. How very chic! There are aisles and aisles and aisles of perfume and books and films and levels devoted to stunning antiques, of which I want everything. You can buy lawn furniture and a Chanel dress and a carrot and a new computer and the perfect bag to carry it all home in. Harrods is dripping with elegance and I adore it, simply can’t wait to get back inside.

Something I recently learned is that there is a Ladurée pastry shop tucked into Harrods as well. For reasons that I still don’t understand, I have never been to Ladurée in Paris nor London nor anywhere for that matter. I reproach myself each time I think of it and consider it a crime against my upbringing. I fully intend on trying out their legendary macarons the day I land in London, and am secretly hoping that they’re crap so I can continue boasting that I make the world’s best macaron. I hope there is a contest for that someday so that I can take the title home.

If there’s time, I hope to visit the Royal Gallery for the first time and look on the visages of all the important people in the Realm. Maybe someday I will become a nationalized citizen of one of the nations in the British Empire and important in some way and my own portrait will hang on those hallowed walls, too?

I’d also like to wander around the British Museum again, happily lost for hours looking at the treasures from dead cultures from around the world since the beginning of recorded history. Truly, few things bring me greater joy that looking on the face of a dead pharaoh or being inches away from intricately carved hieroglyphics. I’ve always been very partial to Egypt and am excited to visit the country someday in the future when the political situation is not so volatile. I cannot even imagine the feeling I will have when I finally walk about the Egyptian Museum (hopefully the current one, I’m not yet sold on the newer one), or descend into a tomb in the Valley of the Kings, or have a chat with Zahi Hawass — a man I’m equal parts awed and terrified by. I’ve been to the British Museum three times, I believe, and each time have found something new to look at. I fully believe I could spend a year inside and never unearth everything, much like the Louvre. It’s quite spectacular to look at a letter written by Napoleon, to see one of the crystal skulls, to be only a glass divider away from Lindow Man, to actually be inside the Temple of Artemis.

I’d also love to see the Graham Norton Show if I am lucky enough to be selected for tickets. I put an application in, so I hope that one of these days there will be an email telling me that I have been selected to be in the audience. If you have never seen The Graham Norton Show, you are missing something truly wonderful. It is the funniest chat show on television in any country. It’s irreverent and silly, but such a delight to watch and it always makes me happy. I even get teary-eyed whenever the episode with Cyndi Lauper comes on. It is so sweet when she starts to cry.

I would love to go on the Jack the Ripper tour. I’ve had a quiet interest in these murders all my life, never anything serious as I am really quite disturbed by them. I’d rather think about happy things like Atlantis or the filmography of Joan Crawford. But I am intrigued, and I would like to see the places where these horrific murders took place (and maybe take some pictures with me laying in place of the slaughtered hookers.) I have many movies inside my head, all of them Academy Award winners, in my opinion, and one of them is a film about Jack the Ripper. It is from Jack’s perspective and shies away from the gore to heighten the horror with the power of the viewer’s imagination. I see Jack as a tragically flawed character who is somehow powerless. I haven’t worked out the details, yet, but I think it will be good. Look for it in your local cineplex in the coming decade.

Another spot on my sightseeing tour is the BBC studios. I am totally obsessed with many shows that were filmed at the BBC from French & Saunders, Absolutely Fabulous, The Catherine Tate Show, Miranda and countless others. Seeing this place would be like a pilgrimage to me. I doubt you can just saunter in, but laying my eyes on it would be really rather special for me. I hope that I am famous enough to somehow work there someday, even if it is just for Red Nose Day for Comic Relief or maybe one of my television shows will be filmed there. I’m a dreamer, I know, but I’m a Leo, I cannot help myself.

The last two places that I want to go to aren’t really glamorous or prestigious, they’re downright common. I want to go to ASDA and Tesco — supermarkets. ASDA is owned by Walmart and I am deeply curious about what it is like in an ASDA. Will it be like Walmart? This sounds silly, I’m sure, but when I lived in Paris, I was homesick for big box stores like crazy. There is simply nothing like that in France. But, it would be some kind of relief to my mental state to know that there is somewhere close like Walmart or Target. Tesco is another supermarket. I’ve been to Tesco Express, but that isn’t the real experience. I want to go to a Tesco like the Spice Girls sing about in their Christmas single or where they go to in their reunion commercials.

Speaking of the Spice Girls, if Viva Forever, the Spice Girls broadway musical written by my idol Jennifer Saunders (of Absolutely Fabulous fame, amongst other wonderful things such as Let Them Eat Cake and French & Saunders) has opened, there is no force in the world that will stop me from going and singing along — I have no shame. It’ll be like Mamma Mia! except it will be good.

Now we’re arriving at the end and the most important topic: celebrities. I love them. I love being near them. I love knowing they can see me. I want to be among them. I can’t even imagine what the celebrity density is going to be during the wedding — astronomical, surely. I nearly wet myself when I discovered that Joanna Lumley was invited to the wedding. I LOVE HER. She’s Patsy! And she’s is in my favorite television series ever, Class Act. She hosts wonderful documentaries on the Nile river, cats, the Northern Lights. She is a political activist. She’s hilarious and a damn classy lady and I want her to play Margo in the film adaptation of my first novel, Terrible Miss Margo. If I see her, I will be able to die happy. There is nothing in my imagination that will be able to top that moment.

Many other celebrities will be there, Elton John, royals of other European countries, David and Victoria Beckham (ah! excited!), the Queen, and important politicians from around the world. I mean, I will have to bump into at least one of them, won’t I? The only person I wouldn’t want to see is Kanye West — he allegedly has an invitation and I couldn’t be more irritated. I don’t like Kanye. I purposely avoided the Champs-Élysées on days I knew he would be at Louis Vuitton. I suppose a run in with him will make for a good story, though, unpleasant as it will be. I hope Jedward will be there, too. Those boys are good fun and always make me laugh. Kathy Griffin has recently started dropping hints, too, that she might be doing something to do with the royals. So many people I need to meet!

This has been a long post and I applaud you for reading to the end. You can surely count on me to be your Royal correspondent in London — updating you with videos and blogs each day I am there. I can’t wait! (And don’t hate, you only live once, bitches!)