The British Royal Family is a modern-day melting pot of pageantry, tradition, romance, fashion, celebrity and, of course, scandal. If you're a monarchist, or just a consumer of glossy mags, the House of Windsor is the perfect package. And I'm hooked.

For me, being pro-monarchy has always felt instinctual, rather than a deliberate choice. The royals first entered my consciousness in 1981, while I was shopping with my mother for shoes to match the canary yellow flower-girl dress I'd be wearing at my aunt's wedding. The sky was overcast and there was an added sense of haste that afternoon. Everyone wanted to get home in time to watch the wedding of Prince Charles to Lady Diana Spencer.

I scrapbooked it all – Charles and Di, then Andrew and Fergie. I just couldn't get enough. But despite this teenage ardour, I can't boast of a collection of royal memorabilia worthy of a current affairs story. You see, I discovered heavy metal and found the commemorative plates clashed with my posters of long-haired musicians and penchant for wearing black.

Nonetheless, my love for all things royal has endured. I've sobbed through every wedding, celebrated the birth of the future king with a high tea at home with my two-year-old (my second child shares a birth date with Prince George, you know) and applauded Prince Philip as one of the funniest and most un-PC buggers still breathing.

Like most, I was stunned at the level of my grief when Diana died. Unlike most, I was thrilled for Charles and Camilla – now there's a love story – when they finally tied the knot after a 30-year affair.