The Fatdog Broadcasting Corporation’s invite to cover tomorrow’s big event seems to have been misplaced, leaving us out in the cold as regards reporting on matters royal. I suppose (in desperation) we could visit all the street parties in our estate and gauge the public mood towards our prospective future monarchs. Our late evening dog walk detected one house in our sprawling mass of (relatively) new build which was displaying Union Jack bunting and a token half-dozen red, white and blue balloons balanced precariously on top of a garden shrub. Not a huge endorsement of the royal family in this part of the world it would appear. More than likely this solitary aberration can be attributed to a sectarian singing Rangers supporter thumbing his nose at pathetically inadequate UEFA sanctions. The other possibility will result in me being wakened tomorrow morning by the sound of a Fruity Bigots Flute Band thumping its way down the street.