Dear God, what DID Her Maj do to deserve this?
Ed Balls on a ukulele. Craig David bragging about his female conquests. JAN MOIR watches the toe-curling birthday bash for the Queen and asks . . .
by Jan Moir
She has been through the abdication, the accession and the coronation. She lived through the Blitz and the Cold War, while from a frontrow seat, she was a witness to the decline of the empire.
She’s seen three of her four children get divorced, and one daughter-in-law hit the headlines when a toe- sucking adulterous affair with a Texan accountant was exposed. Dear God. No one can say the Queen hasn’t suffered, but what did she do to deserve this?
On Saturday night, the BBC celebrated her Majesty’s 92nd birthday with a televised concert from the Royal Albert hall in London. It was in equal parts bizarre, terrible, fabulous, squirmacious, downright bonkers, awful.
In some far-flung BBC bunker, someone took a puff on the pipe of crazy, dropped a big tab of mad and decided what her Maj might really enjoy would be Frank Skinner, harry hill and ed Balls playing ukuleles and impersonating George Formby, while Sting teamed up with Jamaican reggae star Shaggy to churn through their mutual hits.
I didn’t ever think I’d see the day when Shaggy sang Mr Boombastic to our very own Queen, who was sitting up in the circle in a nice gold frock with box pleats, her expression majestically impenetrable.
The 100-minute concert also featured Sir Tom Jones, Kylie Minogue, Craig David, Anne-Marie, Jamie Cullum, Alfie Boe and Canadian heart-throb Shawn Mendes among others.
Darling hM, on behalf of the entire nation, I would like to say sorry. Sorry for this endurance test of death by smarm and crooning; sorry for Craig David singing that awful song about bonking a girl over the course of a week; and really, really sorry for the semishambolic finale.
At the end of the show, the Queen actually had to shuffle onto the balloonstrewn stage with Prince Charles, who led the crowd in a chorus of three cheers as the stars lingered behind them.
‘Your Majesty . . . Mummy,’ he began, and she rolled her eyes and laughed.
NO WONDER. For while this country may have its problems, there is one area in which we still excel, surpass and outstrip our rivals.
When it comes to royal entertainments, from It’s A Royal Knockout to rock concerts broadcast from Buckingham Palace, we remain world leaders in the art of cringe, the global champions of the buttock clench of embarrassment. hip hip hooray for us! The Royal Commonwealth Society had organised this event, which was watched by a television audience of 3.9 million, half of that achieved by Britain’s Got Talent, which was being broadcast on ITV at the same time.
Still, almost a full complement of principal Windsors were flushed out of the royal gorse by beaters and threats. Alongside the Queen sat Charles and Camilla, William, harry and Meghan, Anne, eugenie plus Beatrice and the Wessexes.
There was no Duke of edinburgh, who had managed to avoid the hip-hop by claiming to still be recuperating from his hip op. Nice one, Phil.
Kate seemed to think that being nine months pregnant was enough of an excuse, while everyone else had to bear down and pray for nursie to bring pain relief soon.
Indeed, the entire family looked as though they were facing nearly two hours of root canal treatment followed by a mandatory group enema. Meghan was the smiliest by far, but six Royal Variety shows down the line and she’ll be looking just as glum as the rest of them.
Let’s look on the bright side. Positives? Amazingly, there was no Claudia Winkleman, no Clare Balding, no Joanna Lumley and none of the Sues — Perkins, Lawley or Barker.
There was no Paul McCartney, no Spice Girls, no Shirley Bassey, no Wayne Sleep, no Jimmy Bloody Tarbuck and no one from the West end production of Cats.
The show was excellently produced by BBC Studios, and there was some great music, from Lady smith Black Mambazo, the Dhol Foundation, the mighty Sir Tom and The Voice runner-up and nascent superstar Donel Mangena.
Shawn Mendes is handsome, talented and terrific — no wonder little girls love him — while ageless Kylie sang her latest hit alongside eight handsome cowboy dancers in Stetsons and boots; no complaints from me.
Sad that there were so few female performers, with only
Kylie, Anne- Marie and Laura Mvula making the cut, while compere Zoe Ball did her best.
This was not helped by her tendency to talk as though we were all children.
‘Ma’am, we all salute you,’ she shouted at the Queen, as if her Maj were a dim toddler who had just learned to tie her shoelaces.
‘Who would have thought the Duchess of Cornwall would be the next Mary Berry?’ she screamed, after one filmed inset showed the Duch just about lifting a pinkie to help volunteers bake a birthday cake at Clarence house.
WhO indeed? Certainly not Camilla, judging by the frosty expression that crimped her face at such impudence. ‘You can’t help but beam from ear to ear,’ bellowed Ball, after Skinner, hill and Balls thrashed through When I’m Cleaning Windows. Beam? Surely she meant scream? Theirs was the most surreal and painful performance in this weird show, made worse when Balls revealed that he had started learning to play the ukulele only two weeks ago. Thus proving there is nothing the old ham won’t do to get himself in front of a camera. What must the Queen have thought of it all? In an unusual break with protocol, the BBC cameras kept returning to the Royal Box to capture her reactions, like an anxious puppy searching for approval, hoping no one will notice the mess on the carpet. As always, her poker- faced expression gave nothing away; she looked as steadfast as the image on her postal stamps, as unyielding as a copper coin. elizabeth II hasn’t ruled over this country for 66 years without learning never to show favouritism, mockery or rudeness in public, and how to keep her emotions under royal lock and key, as guarded as the Crown Jewels. No, not even when a sweaty, beet- faced former Labour frontbencher was making a fool of himself, or even when the lusty Shaggy in his oversized shirt was groin-thrusting across the Albert hall stage and singing about his Mr Lover-Lover prowess as our beloved monarch looked on. ‘Ain’t no party like the Queen’s party,’ he sang. Once more with feeling — cringe!