Even though the royal wedding is still some weeks away, I am getting prepared.
I haven't yet assembled the civil defence style emergency kit with enough rations to last through the interminable hours of breathlessly whispering (is that even possible?) television coverage.
Instead, I have been concentrating on producing my own memorabilia.
The uncharitable might suggest meanness has inspired this, after I learned I would have to pay $US9.99 for a commercial paper doll set of the happy couple.
Not true.
I was horrified by the image of paper doll Wills in his red boxer shorts.
At first glance, my ancient eyes thought the dangling white drawstring was an unseemly opening at the front of the royal personage.
To prevent any such confusion, in my design he is wearing budgie smugglers. The discarded box from the crumbed fish fillets may not have been the most salubrious item from which to construct Wills and Kate.
It was, however, preferable to me diving into the recycling bin to find something better and being found several weeks later in a rotten-fish-like state with my feet sticking out the top.
And, if I can be snobby for a moment, fish fillets are surely slightly more posh than fish fingers.
Fortunately, for the template I was able to use the outline conveniently provided by the Otago Daily Times for the recent iD Paper Dolls Styling Competition.
It wasn't iDeal for Wills, who looks less than manly, but still better than me relying on my artistic ability and non-existent senses of proportion and perspective.
Rather than slavishly and unimaginatively recreating my own version of clothes the happy couple have already worn out, I have splashed out with my own avante-garde outfits made from old newspaper and magazine ads.
There have been a few design faux pas such as the indiscreet placing of pictures of light bulbs and tacky SOLD! signs, but there is nothing that a bit of glue and improv cannot fix. Not content with mere paper dolls, armed with a black permanent marker, I have moved on to other things, seizing every opportunity for recycling.
Chipped mugs, plates, and a pillow slip (sporting stains from the Last Born's nosebleeds) have been transformed with royal portraiture.
I have written their names underneath in case anyone is too stupid to realise that the bald stick figure with the crown is Wills.
Concerns about the tackiness of the royal teatowel have been cast aside. Rather than ruin a pristine towel, I have decided to jazz up an old orange number featuring five New Zealand rose stamps ranging in price from 2c to 9c.
I see this as an opportunity to redress the stuff-ups surrounding the commemorative stamp pack produced here.
There will be no mention of birth dates or depictions of coats of arms.
Instead, my portrait of Kate will adorn the 8c Josephine Bruce rose while Wills will be on the 6c Cresset variety.
The beauty of this tea towel is that once the sprogs arrive, providing there are no more than three, they will feature on Diamond Jubilee, Iceberg and Lilli Marlene . ( If the couple has any real sense of style the kids will be called Di, Berg and Lil ).
This frenetic activity has given me time to reflect on impending nuptials and how we feel about them, even if we don't know the people concerned.
It is easy to cower behind the cloak of cynicism over the whole business, hoping no-one will notice when we peek out occasionally that we are a little excited.
It is not a particularly logical feeling. After all we don't know Kate and Wills, despite having read much about them over the years.
Nor is their experience of the wedding and married life likely to bear much resemblance to our own .
I can't imagine them, for instance, spending their honeymoon in a sodden tent in Fiordland where earth movement was mostly related to a terrifying thunderstorm.
Nor, a bit further down the track, can I picture Kate screeching at Wills because in one of his unusual forays into gardening he has killed a favourite plant.
Given the intense outside scrutiny they will suffer during their marriage where every look, silly utterance and all their body language will be scrutinised and screamed about in women's magazines, we should feel sorrow rather than hope.
I have no time for sorrow.
I am too busy keeping my Kate doll's wedding frock under wraps.
I can't say too much, but think edible and Anna Pavlova and watch out for it on Trade Me.
It will be a triumph of hope over just about anything you care to name.
Elspeth McLean is a Dunedin writer.
