Conspiracy theorising, unlike pageantry, isn't what we do best, as today's closing item makes very clear. But that's not to say that the British are averse to a little wild speculation when the occasion demands. And so to the Blairs' wedding snub – a gross affront to common decency that has provoked many competing ideas as to its genesis.
Her Maj punishing Mrs B for refusing to curtesy? Philip expressing belated umbrage for the conception of Leo on royal bedsheets? William's lingering rage at how Mr Tony turned his mother's death to political advantage? Or one of the 109 other explanations advanced so far? Who can say, but allow me to lob in two of my own.
First, senior royal sources report concerns that, without any cast-iron guarantee about the quality of the goodie bags, Cherie would have either refused the invitation or helped herself to the pulpit. And second, the Queen may have recalled how, shortly before the invasion of Iraq, Mr Tony took that cuddly Mr Assad of Syria to tea with her at the Palace. Being great mates with the age's top-ranked monsters is every premier's perfect right, of course, but now and then there will be a small price to pay.
* Hurrah for the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge on achieving their first milestone. Their wedlock has already beaten the longevity record set by the other globally famed couple married on 29 April. Still, at least Eva and Adolf Hitler managed to stick to the "until death do us part" bit for a day.
* It was uplifting, meanwhile, to find so many historians freely sharing their insights. Admittedly Simon Schama seemed camera-shy, though he may yet make something of himself if he can master the crippling self-doubt, but Kate Williams excelled herself with the deed poll. She is reportedly prepared for another change, should that best man-bridesmaid flirtation take off, to Pippa Harris. But the laurels go to Colonel Andrew Roberts, the fingerlickin' good KFC heir with the Middletonian social mobility. In parroting the nonsense line about the uninvited Blairs and Browns (not state occasion, not Knights of the Garter, no "q" in the month, etc), Andrew staked a mighty claim to the Lord St John of Fawlsey Memorial Grace And Favour Apartment 0.4 Inches To The South of Her Majesty's Colon. Way to go, Colonel!
Also chipping in her twopenn'orth was Labour's Sharon Hodgson, who tweeted that Sam Cam's attire was "way too casual". It's tremendous to see an MP representing her constituents so accurately. If there's one thing the people of Sunderland will not tolerate, it's a woman sat brazenly in church without a hat.
* While we fret over the missing Blairs scandal, finally, the Americans show us what top-drawer conspiracy theorising is all about. The current king is not Lyndon Larouche, who insists that the Queen is the evil mastermind behind the global drugs trade, but leading Birther Jerome Corsi. Within minutes of Obama's birthplace press conference, Jerome took to World Net Daily – a website so frothingly bonkers that Mad Mel Phillips cites it approvingly on her blog – to celebrate.
"Today, Barack Obama blinked," he began. "The debate about his eligibility to be president has truly only just begun," continued Mr Corsi, preparing to name the magnum opus which the release of the birth certificate is so exquisitely timed to promote, "two weeks before the publication of my book Where's The Birth Certificate?" Sheerest genius.
* I am distressed by the uniformly dreadful reviews for Huw Edwards. Admittedly the Beeb was creamed by ITN, as it was slaughtered by Sky on election night. But Huw cannot be held responsible for that, or for overexcitement at Kate's bust. Middle-aged men are genetically programmed to ogle, as George Osborne confirmed on the eve of turning 40 with that saucy message to Shelagh Fogherty.
No, if anyone's to blame for Huw's untimely ejaculation – "a limited view," he erupted as the camera dwelt on the future Queen's bosom, "but a splendid view!" – it's the production team for mischievously "forgetting" to slip the bromide into his tea as the BBC Charter dictates.