I’d like to add my early-morning husky cheer to the chorus of well-wishers celebrating the news that my cousin, Zippy Phillips, is to marry her boyfriend, Mike Tindall. Of course, the term ‘boyfriend’ applies loosely to a man who would more accurately be described as a ‘man-friend build like a walnut workbench’. I love rugby players as well as the next season ticket holder to Twickenham but I can’t help but think that Zippy is marrying Bob Hoskin’s bigger and more mangled brother.
But that’s Zippy for you: a woman of independent spirit. She reminds me of my aunt, her mother. Aunty Anne is another independent spirit. Ideally, she would have been born two hundred years ago on the American frontier. Put her in a log cabin located in some remote spot deep inside Indian territory with only a sharp stick to protect her and she’d have been in her element trapping and skinning wild beasts, living off the land, wrestling mountain lions...
I have to say that it always amuses me to read the newspaper reports that say that ‘The Queen and Duke of Edinburgh are said to be "delighted" by the news.’ I happen to know that H.M. barely looked up from the Racing Post and that my grandfather is still confused enough to think that Mike Tindall made a fool of himself by appearing in ‘Strictly Come Dancing’.
However, never let it be said that the old Red Tuft is completely against marriage (for more about that, please see my reasonably priced book), especially when it brings new blood into the family. We’ve been crying out for serious muscle able to cripple a journalist with a shoulder barge since Fergie was given the boot. I’d like to wish them much happiness together and if they could put their heads together to create some strange union of horse jumping and rugby, they’d find me a more-than-willing participant.
Horse rugby. Now there’s a thought…
