This year, just like every other, it was Kate's ostentatious celebrations that people were talking about. Yes, it was her turn to get custody of Lionel Richie, who serenaded her in a schmancy hotel. (To be honest, I'm glad he was out of my hair. OK, he can party, but getting the footprints off the ceiling afterwards is the devil's own work.) Yes, one of her friends obligingly flashed a breast in view of the waiting paparazzi which, as far as I know, none of mine did. Yes, she had a pig roasting on a spit, vintage champagne and langoustines, plus elaborate medieval-themed decor, including a menagerie of stuffed animals. Yes, she was dressed as 'sexy executed queen' [(c) People newspaper] Anne Boleyn, and was squired by her rock star boyfriend, who was masquerading as Henry VIII.
But did her friends make her cakes like these?
I don't think so. And sorry, Kate, but I'm not swapping.