When I was a schoolgirl, I had dreams of being a society columnist, although I wasn’t actually sure what a society columnist was supposed to do.
They had one in the Daily Express called William Hickey. As far as my 11-year-old self could divine, being a gossip columnist meant hanging about smart places in London with people called ‘Bubbles’ Rothermere, ‘Tiny’ Roland and ‘Pinky’ Toodlepip-Smythe, and then telling us, the peasantry, what they were eating and with whom.
When I saw the film Sweet Smell Of Success, it rather confirmed my suspicion that the job entailed drinking martinis, being snarky and bossing Tony Curtis about.
I failed at the first hurdle. I don’t like martinis.
However, at last my dream has come true, I can break some top notch society news. Hold the front page, there, Ed! (Ed note: she’s getting a bit familiar, best put a stop to the gin)
Donald Wilson, Lord Provost of this fine city, is a darned good bloke and has done sterling work representing us all over the planet, gone to a lot of trouble to find and rehabilitate the old chains of office from other burghs around us and even made sure the Queen had nice garden parties, which must be a challenge with Philip about. Lord knows, that man is a social hand grenade. No idea what he’s going to say next.
The Lady Provost is equally a darned good ambassador for Edinburgh, and responsible for a load of folk sleeping outside at the zoo last year to raise money for the One City Trust. Some of us got out of that by ‘forgetting’ our sleeping bag.
Lovely couple. Never married, you know. Well, modern times and all that. Gone are the days when a monarch would feel faint at the sight of an unwed couple who co-habited. Looking at you, Victoria.
I can now exclusively reveal...Wait! I must go and find a hat like something sported by Hedda Hopper and get a fag in a posh holder and dig out a pair of long wrinkly gloves. Right.
Exclusively we can reveal that the Lord and Lady Provost are getting married. I know! 23 years and Donald finally realised there was something he meant to do, and I suspect Elaine was far too busy to mention it.
Rather wonderfully, they are tying the knot in the middle of the Fringe, which means the entire event can go unnoticed, unless they get a flyering team in, or tell a society columnist. Ooops.
Congratulations and hurrah to the Lord and Lady Provost. We should have a whip round. Have they got a toaster, do you think?