I listened to the Royal Wedding (Harry and Meghan, obviously) on the drive to Glasgow yesterday. Marvellous. The soporific opening belied what was to follow: joy, colour, surprise, excitement and love.

Then I began to pick up on the social media bitching and snide commenting by the joyless, unsurprisable, under-excited, colourless, miserable observers who always know better. Always observers, never participants.

One story about Michael Curry, the preacher, who, if the British media had not filtered him out of any interest before the event – after all, how could a sermon be of any interest or enjoyment? – was well-known everywhere except London.

I sat next to him during the consecration of Mark Bourlakas as Bishop of Southwestern Virginia several years ago. During the service the choir launched into Parry’s ‘I was glad’ – written for a coronation in England. I whispered to Michael: “I thought you guys shed blood to get rid of this sort of thing?” He replied: “We won the War of Independence; you won the culture war!”

Wonderful man, wonderful wedding, wonderful music.

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