Today, though, was one of those days when I was truly proud to be British.
I'm no royalist, but what a bloody show, eh? Go on, rest of the world, beat THAT if you dare. To be fair, I was pretty ambivalent about the whole thing before this week, but the incessant bleating from insufferable lefties on the airwaves fair forced me to watch. Just nip in and out of the coverage, I thought. But no, it just sucked you in from start to finish.
Yes, there were crashingly grating twee families from the home counties camping out, but they compensated by glugging Lambrini and vodka red bulls from about 8 this morning. Don Shenker was probably having palpitations, poor love.
The £30m price tag? Pah! Peanuts. This was top drawer theatre which has probably paid for itself already. Listen, I have mentioned before that my company has suffered to the tune of around £3k - and the country, in the region of £6bn according to the CBI - but that's coming back in many ways.
We talk here about the ignorance to personal enjoyment employed by many in the gloom business, and this is no exception. Counting costs without accepting the relevance of pleasurable value applies equally in this case.
Patrick Basham, writing in the Guardian, reckons we should have sold the rights to the highest bidder, but for once I kinda disagree with him. Unlike the Olympics, the Royal Wedding, IMHO, will be a net gain for the country in mostly intangible ways.
Tourism? No doubt. Today told the world that the streets are empty (and red), everything is clean, and our people quite scrumptious. Nonsense, yes. They'll come over in their droves, though, more fool them. But the cash, eh?
We've seen royal occasions in European countries. Quite rubbish by comparison, no contest in fact. This is what we Brits do best, there really is no credible rival. Massive buildings crafted from stone sourced by ancient artisans from the best that Britain has to offer; pomp derived from a history which Americans can only dream about; music to die for; history; tradition; and men with great big furry hats.
What's more, the flags. Everywhere. We've had this deep shame about our national identity foisted upon us by progressive idiots for years, but here was a nation quite unashamed of displaying the union flag in all corners of the country. Even the celts got involved, with proud parties being held in Wales, Nothern Ireland, and yes, even in Jockland.
Rack up that fun factor, calculator fans, I think you'll find the country made a profit today. My local fish and chip shop, run by a Pole, was watching what I presume is Polish TV. They were wall to wall with the wedding, as was probably just about every other national network worldwide. Britain the centre of the globe, and for reasons that your average knee-jerk republican scouser will never understand.
Politicians? Well, they got a cameo, I suppose it's a downside of everything these days, but they were relegated to also-rans. A brief shot of Cameron, Miliband etc wandering into the Abbey and then nothing. How bloody refreshing was that? No chance to hijack anything for their myopic self-interest. Just be there, or be forever condemned as a bit of a dick. Sit down, shut up, be part of the scenery. That's it. If only they were compelled to act the same in perpetuity. That was worth the (free) entry money on its own.
WW2 planes flying past, snogs on the balcony, happiness just about everywhere, and even a retro Aston Martin. What's not to like?
OK, they banned beer at the reception which leaves Mike Tindall in a bit of a cleft stick, but mere trifles, surely.
Max Farquar points out that everyone will have their own lasting memory of the day, his is admirable, sort of. Personally, I'm a romantic who was mighty impressed with William telling Kate "you're beautiful" as she rocked up at the altar.
Get in, sunshine. You both did the nation proud today.