The Pope, Dr Who... the men get all the top jobs

While the memory of that plain wooden coffin on the beautiful oriental rug will long linger, the feel-good factor of the Pope's funeral went out the window as soon as President Khatami got back to Iran and denied that he had shaken the hand of Israel's President Khatsav. What may or may not have been an exchange of "peace be upon you" and a chat in Farsi about their shared home place of Yazd was replaced by mutterings about "baseless claims by the Zionist media".

Poor Khatsav was free and easy with his hand apparently, offering it not one but twice to President Assad of Syria, though he later claimed that Assad started it. George W must have sat on his fists, all the better to avoid any rash act of shaking hands with the enemy. And that is what it's about, no doubt. It's all very well to be moved by what one called the "magnetic personality of Pope John Paul II" but there's no point in giving in to good feelings and then having to go home and expect young men to go out and lose their lives in battles with the young men from "the other side". I mean, they might say, "Go out outta that, are you jokin' me? Weren't you over there schmoozing and chatting with each other in Rome and making believe you were fully paid up members of a civilised human race." Wonder what "hell no, we won't go!" sounds like in Arabic and Persian. Here's hoping we get to find that out one day.

Add Cardinal Bernard Law's Monday Mass at the Vatican to the aftermath of the Pope's funeral and the warm feelings were pretty much gone down the Tiber. Cardinal Desmond Connell is present in the Vatican to play his part in the election of the new Pope. No, no warm fuzzies inspired by that thought either.

Still, two great British institutions served to cheer us up over the weekend. Another odd royal wedding and another sparkling episode of Dr Who. Charlie getting married was unexpectedly sort of cheering, because it is proof positive that, truly, there is someone for everyone. And, also, of course it gave the man in our house yet one more opportunity to, oh so casually, remind us that he worked on three occasions in the Queen's Library in the Round Tower at Windsor and was served tea on a silver tray. And a fairy cake.

I have no such royal story, I'm afraid. Though I did see Diana once. It was in the market square in Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire, in May of 1989 and we sat on the steps of whatever statue graces the square and she was going about shaking hands with people, looking young and girlish and very embarrassed. There were only about 100 people there, mostly women, and it seemed surreal. You'd be half wishing for someone to intervene and shout "Cut" through a loudhailer, but no one did.

Last Saturday's wedding had the same slightly embarrassed quality. Poor old Eugenie with a coat she must have inherited from Princess Margaret and an upturned bucket of a hat. And Beatrice sent out wearing any old thing by her oinseach* of a mother, who disclosed the other week that Beatrice was dyslexic.

Camilla came through in the end, got her man. She's welcome to him, of course. No one envies her a husband who seems so wholly uncaring about efforts to keep her head-dress on and descend steps on high heels. And nobody envies her having a mother-in-law who was unwilling or unable to whip out a hairgrip from her handbag and say "come here to me, Camilla my dear, you're hair's a fright."

But Camilla shows all the signs of having what it takes to handle the lot of them. Another woman would be a bit worried if her bridegroom got up the morning after the wedding and put on a skirt. Ain't love grand?

We have succumbed, en famille, to Dr Who. After years spent slinking away from the mere mention of it, and having failed to avoid a mind-numbing rundown on BBC recently of all the Doctors through the years, it comes as a surprise to discover it is great fun. Simon Callow made a great Charles Dickens last Saturday. There were lots of rude remarks about Wales. Christopher Ecclestone is very engaging in an ADHD-with-no-Ritalin kind of way and aren't we glad that nice Billy Piper's gotten away from Chris Evans and is back working at her career?

Ecclestone has, unfortunately, decided not to do a second series. The search is on for his replacement, but there is a vital requirement. Asked if he would allow a female actor to become the next Doctor, the writer of the series, E Davies, replied "Not in a million years. Nah! Imagine having to explain that one to your kids – that Doctor Who has lost his willy!"

It's not a good month for women being eligible for the top jobs, is it girls?

* Stupid or foolish woman