MY OATH I’LL HAVE A PARTY
ABSOLUTELY no damn idea what day it actually is but evidently at some point soon we’re all supposed to get down on our knees before some bloke and swallow. Our pride, obviously, our pride…
With more bank holidays than ever, meaning many of us spending nearly as much time at home as your average civil servant, it’s tricky to keep up with the month let alone the actual day.
And some of us are obviously vague on the year too.
Otherwise how do you explain the medieval madness of ermine, crowns, sceptres, golden carriages and swearing allegiance to honour a family other than your own. Actually, even your own can be a bit tricky occasionally.
Nothing about this coming weekend’s Coronation of King Charles actually makes much sense viewed through the prism of the cost-of-living crisis, endless strikes, political shenanigans and the fact that it’s costing squillions of pounds none of us actually have. But, but, but…
In spite of all of that, sorry, but I’m looking forward to a knees-up with my neighbours.
And the more the right-on republican brigade tell me that makes me a subservient serf, brainwashed into being grateful for the crumbs off the royal table, the more determined it makes me to want to celebrate. Not least because they’re actually being more patronising and condescending than the royals themselves.
Like everything else these days, the Coronation has become a divisive hissy fit on both sides. The #NotMyKing brigade versus the Union Flag-waving diehard royalists. Most of us are somewhere in the middle. Have the debate, by all means, but leave out the hate. Let everyone make their own decisions about what they do.
Yes, sigh, the Coronation is costing a lot of money. And yes, sigh, it brings in loads of money from tourism too. There isn’t a country on earth that does pomp and ceremony like we do. It’s also great news for our hospitality industry, still on its knees after the pandemic madness.
Millions around the world are going to watch Charlie Boy and Camilla doing their thing on Saturday. It’s a great advert for a country that isn’t as bad, mad or sad that way too many folk would have us believe.
Charlie is, of course, not his mum. A woman who came to the throne as a scandal-free young woman. Times were hugely different. The country was staggering out of the war and we were all a lot more united and respectful of not just the royals but one another. The King has a past, he’s a grumpy old git and he cheated on Saint Diana. Then there’s the complications of the Ginger Whinger and dodgy old Randy Andy. Basically, the Windsors are just a posh version of Shameless.
The joy of living in a democracy, though, is that no one is forcing you to do anything this weekend. You can carry on as normal with the usual shopping or sport and ignore the whole thing or get yer Union Flag knickers on and party like it’s a major historical event.
You can even simply catch a bit of it on telly and not make a fuss either way. Your weekend, your choice.
Life’s way too short not to have a party, no matter what the reason.
Now pass that quiche…