London hosted a fairy tale yesterday, and the world lapped it up.
Two billion otherwise sane and rational people sat down with a cup of tea and a nice biscuit to watch the marriage of a couple they had never met.
Why? Because most of us, even the most questioning and cynical souls, are suckers for a beautiful princess, a gold carriage and a happy ending.
Do not underestimate the public appetite for fairy tales. We will gloss over an awful lot to achieve them.
Speaking of fairy tales, London will be hosting another one in four weeks, when Barcelona look certain to descend for the Uefa Champions League Cup final.
Ah, Barcelona. It feels impossible to utter the name without a wistful sigh. Are they real, do you think, or a collective fantasy conjured up to ease the pain of this turbulent world?
The current Barcelona team has attained mythical status: not just the best club team in the history of the game but one which was built, not bought. A team formed of players who are not just great, but many of them local to the proud Catalan region, which still owns the club. Superstars, yes, but humble ones: good princes led by their genial and handsome king, Pep Guardiola.
This would be a potent fantasy in any sport, never mind one as tarnished as football, which seems otherwise dominated by greed, commercialism and self-interest. Barca do not even have shirt sponsors. Instead they give up their mighty chests to a children's charity. Oh my sweet, noble, Lords!
You can hear it in the analysis of matches. When Lionel Messi scored his second goal against Real Madrid on Wednesday night, he was widely agreed to have "rescued" the match from disgrace. It cannot be long before they dispense with the team bus and start arriving at stadiums on white chargers, their armour glinting in the sun.
Perhaps our desperation for this fantasy to be true is why Jose Mourinho, the Real Madrid manager, has been dismissed as a raving madman for daring to question it - and why he is likely to receive a stiff penalty from Uefa.
In the aftermath of defeat by the blessed ones, he asked why it is that Barcelona appear to get the rub of the green. That seems a fair question. Why did Gerard Pique and Samuel Eto'o get away with clear handballs in the box against Chelsea in 2009? Why do they seem to get away with their outrageous simulation (see Daniel Alves' Oscar-winning performance on Wednesday night, or Sergio Busquet's nonsense against Inter Milan in 2010) when others do not? Why is it never Barcelona players who are harshly sent off, as Arsenal's Robin Van Persie was for alleged time-wasting against them last season?
I do not suggest a deliberate conspiracy involving referees, as Mourinho has done. I do, however, suspect that officials are blinded by the glow from those halos and that saintliness writ large across their chests.
Every fairy tale needs a villain, and Mourinho has been cast as the wicked witch for his words. But I see him as more like the hero of Hans Christian Andersen's fable, The Emperor's New Clothes: the little boy who sees past the hype and speaks the uncomfortable truth.
In this case, however, the mob has turned on the child for his impudence. Like I said, do not underestimate the public appetite for a fairy tale.