THIS column is being written before the Royal Wedding but, like all other republicans in the United Kingdom, I am suffering from a huge dollop of angst.

What am I, and the rest of the Cromwellians, going to do on the Big Day? Unless I stay in bed, with the blinds drawn and wearing ear plugs, there’s no chance of escaping the marathon television broadcast.

My Mrs will be sitting, glued to the screen, with enough food and drink on hand to preclude having to get up and make something, thus running the risk of missing a single moment.

I thought about taking Boris, our miniature schnauzer, for an extended walk. However, 45 minutes is all I can manage these days without collapsing in a heap.

We could sit on one of the forms at the edge of Doffcocker Lodge until the big event is all over, but run a terrible risk of meeting patriotic dog walkers, waving Union flags, with their pet pooches decked out in red, white and blue. That would trigger a desperate plunge into the water for me and Boris, which would be fatal. Neither of us can swim.

I know the royalists among you will be thinking: “What a sad old git”, and you are entitled to your opinion, as I am to mine. I view the institution as grotesquely out of date and can’t stand the Windsors, for whom the adjective “dysfunctional” was coined.

I have nothing personal against the couple at the centre of this extravaganza. The bridegroom seems a decent man, which, given the scandal-scarred history of his immediate family, is a minor miracle. His bride, unlike his Sloane mum, who was anything but street-wise, is, nonetheless, forfeiting her identity, individuality and personal freedom. I hope she doesn’t have reason to rue that decision once she becomes a fully-fledged royal; a queen in waiting, no less. I think she will, but time alone will deliver that verdict.

What will be going through the bridegroom’s mind as he surveys the front pews? How will he view his father, whose affair with the then Camilla Parker-Bowles drove his mum Diana to the edge of insanity, before she embarked on several high-profile affairs?

Will he look at other royals, for whom marriage has been but a temporary inconvenience along life’s rocky, but privileged road?

Probably not. Like thousands of flag-waving royalists across this sceptred isle, he’ll put such thoughts out of his mind and simply enjoy the day. That’s his, and your, prerogative, but leave me out.