All this Royal Wedding tosh has got me reminiscing...

Very fleetingly, at the age of nine I had a special interest in marrying Prince Harry. I chose Harry over William believing us to be better suited if we were closer in age (6 years rather than 8). I then proceeded to foster sincere hopes of such a relationship in the future. My ideas of the wedding were Barbie-like, i.e. there would be a carriage drawn by four white horses. (At that time I didn't see Barbie for the tart she is; check out how easy she is when she encounters Ken in Toy Story 3, that ho bag.)

However my fantasies were short-lived; I had some intense Spice Girls dance routine practise to do. Ok that's not strictly true. I never got to do the dance routines. They would never let 'the Lesbian Monster' have a go. Honest to god, I did have this nickname at primary school; it's a long story so let's just say we frequently played Kiss-chase in the playground with the boys and I must have got confused or something.

Sad ugly loner memories aside, Prince William got engaged to Kate Middleton. So WHAT? Wouldn't you rather read about my fascinating life? Not that I gave you much choice (see above). But with my rampant egoism duly noted, I shall instead educate you in spouse selection. Much more relevant than the Royal Wedding. I hope you deem me qualified to do so despite my somewhat homosexual experiences.

Love makes people do silly things, like err... oh crap, can't give an example from my loveless personal life. Hold on, lemme think.

So some poor Medic geezer falls head over heels for a hot Civenger (yes, that's right, interfaculty relations - doomed before the off but hey, how's a fresher to know). Three minutes after texting her, he's yearning for a reply. When he hears nothing after another minute he thinks his phone must have been on silent (ignoring the fact that his silent mode actually involves vibration). After checking his sound mode for the third time, he envisions what she might be doing that has prevented her perfectly formed fingers from typing a text back.

And when, inevitably, his love is unrequited (an apparently painful experience that induces uncharacteristic song-writing tendencies) he keeps calling her but with claims of friendship. She accepts in order to avoid being thought a bitch, fully knowing his less than innocent intentions. Thus she rips his heart to pieces indefinitely.

So, my marriage-material criteria: 1. They are in love with you. 2. You are not in love with them. Look out for the ones that say they'd "do anything" for you, those are the keepers. That way, for the duration of your marriage (a period which ideally takes up the majority of your life), you can keep a clear head whilst your partner is in the giddy and crucially, malleable haze of love.