Still sighing over the loveliness of the wedding, I made my way to the Abbey this afternoon, thinking I'd take a look at the flowers ...

And I had one of my Good Ideas.

I would assume a devout and respectable face and attend Evensong. (For which there is no absolutely-whopping admittance charge. As yet.)

Now ... could I really outsmart the CofE on its biggest money-spinning weekend for decades?

There were two queues winding around the Abbey ... credit cards to the right, cash to the left, and I reckoned the queue on either side was an hour long. If you were lucky.

And when I asked about Evensong, they said I'd be most welcome ... but it was in St Margaret's.

**@!** They're not daft, are they?

A nice verger was holding court outside, explaining that he wasn't the one who turned cartwheels.

I'm afraid for £16 and a hour's queuing, I'd expect tea with William and Kate thrown in.

Thirty years ago, after Charles and Di's wedding, I remember dropping into St Paul's to see the flowers in my lunch-hour from work. So there can't have been much of a queue.

Looking over my shoulder - in case the Wrath of God might smite me there and then - I nicked a white daisy. (The Wrath of God smote the daisy instead because despite my best efforts to preserve it, it turned brown and the petals fell off. And eventually I chucked it out.)

I would like to say here that I am now a reformed character. And hadn't the slightest intention of pilfering trees from the Abbey.

As soon as I saw them on telly, I thought ... that'll never fit in my handbag!