VegasChatter

We expected a meeja maelstrom; we saw nada. In fact, we asked PH person after PH person – no one had seen her, or him, or even a brigade of paparazzi (not a problem in Jordan’s case, seeing as she’d brought an entire bloody film crew with her).

Undeterred, we tried to sniff out the wedding. We figured that for publicity purposes, they’d want to marry in one of the famous chapels, to follow in the footsteps of other successful couplings like Bob Geldof and Paula Yates, and Britney and Britney’s stooge. We went down to the Little Church of the West, which was dead. We circled the Las Vegas sign in case they’d gone for an open air do, officiated by Elvis. Nothing. So we decided to poke around the chapels north of the Strip.

Just after 4pm, we were driving up the Strip, past the Wynn, and, hand on heart, we had a little lightbulb flicker inside our heads (maybe we were remembering our own advice about how the Wynn wedding salon is perfect for luxury, or maybe we were enjoying a psychic connection to Jordan).

But we brushed it aside, because really, why would England’s biggest famewhore come to Vegas and spoil it all by getting hitched somewhere quiet, private and chic? Um, duh – because they have a deal sewn up for the photos which will earn them shitloads of moolah, obvs. Total famewhore fail.

Anyway, we continued our search up Las Vegas Boulevard, and saw pretty much every couple getting married in Vegas apart from the one we wanted. Then 10 minutes after we got home, this popped up. They had got married. In the Wynn. At 4pm. As we were driving by.

Wedding fail. Stalker fail. VegasChatter fail. We apologize. And by way of apology, we offer you this little picture gallery of the Wynn's wedding wing just one hour after the Price-Reid whirlwind had passed through it. The chapel – or wedding salon - itself was locked up tight (ventilating out the hairspray?) but at least we bring you the corridor they would have walked down, the door handle they’d have pushed open, and the secret back door they would have smuggled themselves in and out of. How calm does it look? No rose petals strewn on the ground, no chocolate-crusted strawberries, no lonely bottles of champagne. It’s almost as if they were worried we’d steal their DNA and do a photoshoot of our own with Hello! (which we totally would have done).

In the meantime, as we write this, the happy couple should be enjoying their first night of married loving. Which in their case, we assume, means rolling around in the stacks of dollar bills that OK mag will have FedExed them. Good work, kids. See you down PURE tomorrow night?

PS: We were tweeting all the way through the hunt this afternoon. So don’t forget to follow us for on-the-ground updates. We’ll sniff ‘em out in the end, promise.

[Ring Photo: Mail Online/Big Pictures]