Aisle be damned (Picture: Liberty Antonia Sadler for Metro.co.uk)

Dear Prince Harry,

Thanks for reading dude. I’m obviously really honoured, you being the cool one from the Royal Family, and all.

Not content with being Barack Obama’s mate, you fought the Taliban, and even trekked to the South Pole.

Not to mention the fact you seem totally zen about being a ginge. Hats off, honestly. What a class act.


Anyway, it’s been brought to my humble attention that, while the nation celebrates your forthcoming nuptials and you bask in the glory of your well-earned public approbation, apparently you’re getting a fair bit of stick for inviting your exes to the wedding.



Cressida. Ellie. The other one, you know. Wotshername.

Well I’m here to say, good on you, my liege.

Because I wish I’d stood up for myself and done the same.

And with less than a month until your big date, allow me to share a cautionary tale…

I got married three years ago this summer. Pardon the cliche, but it genuinely was the happiest day of my life.

The sun was shining. The vast majority of the people I truly love and care about – mum, dad, sister, old school friends, crazy waster buddies, lovely new extended family – were present and correct in our finest threads.

We honoured love and togetherness, ate stupendous amounts of food, and got royally s***faced.

Battered (Photo by Chris Jackson/Getty Images)

Yet, as time has elapsed, when I look back upon the photos of the big day, whether on Facebook or nan’s mantlepiece, I’m given pause to reflect on those who were sadly absent.

The deceased, the overseas, and the uninvited.

And whoah, if there weren’t one or two exes who would have made that day a whole lot more glorious.

At the early, notional planning stage just after I asked her to marry me, my now wife and I batted around the idea of inviting a couple of key exes.

She had one or two who were still part of her wider friendship group, so the initial idea was a sort of prisoner exchange.

‘You’re allowed to bring Charlotte, but only if Duncan can come too,’ that sort of thing. Fair enough.

Inevitably however, as the big day approached and my bride-to-be’s iron grip clenched ever tighter on the minutiae of the day, both Duncan and Charlotte’s names vanished.

First from the table plans, then the save-the-date longlist, then from conversations altogether.

Never to return, I might add.

Now obviously, in the case of your big day, Donald Trump and his gross family can f*** right off. Even though that tragically means the Obamas had to sit this one out. Life happens.

But in my case, the only regret I have about our magical day was that I didn’t stand firmer on my principles and insist my ex(es) be allowed to join the celebrations.



Superficially, because I believe such mature behaviour sets out my stall as an upright geezer who can maintain quality adult relationships with people, even those with whom I might have nursed grievances in the past.

Don’t dismiss that. It’s no mean feat.

If an ex shows up to a wedding in a demure getup, claps poignantly during the ceremony, compliments the bride’s dress after the dance, and still pisses off well before last orders at the bar, that’s surely a good look for everyone.

(Photo: David M. Benett/Dave Benett/Getty Images)

I didn’t have enough of that at my wedding. Wisely, or so I thought, at the time, it was avoided altogether.

But the painful long-term consequence was that, since I tied the knot, many of the people I held closest to my heart have vanished from my life.

Now, of course I understand that when you get married, the rules of the game change a bit.

It becomes tawdry – or at least it looks tawdry – to hang out with an ex.

But if they’d joined us for the wedding, I firmly believe there’s a chance the relationships could’ve been reset, rebooted and kept going on different terms.

As it was, I inadvertently lost touch with them all afterwards.

Put it this way – you can’t very well not invite someone to your wedding, and then pretend you’re mates, can you?

And thus, even though I’d not dicked them for up to a decade, these excellent people – I can’t name them obviously, but they know who they are – have slowly fallen by the wayside when it comes to my friendship group, my Christmas list, my son’s likes on Facebook when he does a poo. All of it.


The wife’s ex-boyfriends have also vanished, by the way, which I’m obviously chuffed about in a gross, primal sort of way. But even that’s a bit of a shame.

It takes proper courage to stand up for the idea that a former lover belongs at a subsequent lover’s wedding, and by god I really wish I hadn’t fallen out with some of the people I have because of that silly bourgeois convention.

These exes are some of the people who make me who I am. People with whom I will always share jokes and fond memories. People I still think are funny. People who, maybe, at some point, might even still need me.

Happy wife – happy life (Photo by Chris Jackson – WPA Pool/Getty Images)

So Prince Harry, I say to you this:

Congrats for showing yet again the lion heart courage that sustained you out in Helmand.

You got your own way.

If Meghan, level headed mature independent woman that she is, does start freaking out – because, remember, my wife was all for it at first – then find a delicate way of expressing how important these people are to you.

And be sure she understands that once you start getting on in years, having kids and settling down, it’s really quite difficult, if not impossible, to make good quality new friendships.

Take it from me, buddy.

Except we both know the truth, as men in love.

She’s in charge from now on.

My wife would have my bollocks if I brought three exes to our wedding.

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