Four fabulous days that showed us at our best
Pinch us, we’re dreaming. Or did all that really happen? Those insane, unforgettable four days when corgis flew, a bear took tea in Buck House and a team of snow-white horses drew a fairytale golden coach down The Mall?
Cheers for Elizabeth II loud enough to rouse her Tudor forebear from Westminster Abbey. Boos for our pantomime baddie PM. And unexpected lump-in-the throat moments when human tenderness reduced the pomp and circumstance to so much background noise.
Lambeth walkers on The Mall. Daleks. Celebrities so random the Platinum Pageant resembled a cheese dream; in what other universe would Angela Rippon be on the same bill as Kate Moss, Sir Mo Farah and the Wombles?
An Indian wedding, a 12-year-old girl with the drumming skills of Keith Moon, Rupaul’s Drag Racers? Why, of course. Brilliant. Bonkers. British.
Festivities officially kicked off on Thursday. Unofficially, they began much earlier in the week when the first telltale tents appeared on The Mall. We don’t have a written constitution, but if we did it would surely state that no royal event can possibly take place without a phalanx of red-white-andblue bedecked superfans to make the rest of us stiffs feel less self-conscious about manically waving Union flags once a decade.
Thursday was all about Trooping the Colour and the unspoken politics of the balcony. The clattering of the mounted Household Division prompted a handful of Animal Rebellion vegan activists to attempt to mount a Suffragette-style protest but nobody understood why, as horses are already vegan. A hip-hip-hooray went up as they were dragged away through a mound of steaming manure. Meanwhile, matters in the opentopped carriage were taking a turn for the lively as Princess Charlotte first chided little brother Prince Louis for his intemperate waving, then peered so deeply into the Duchess of Cornwall’s handbag she was in danger of tumbling down into Wonderland.
No wonder some corners of social media have been calling for the succession to skip Charles, William and George in favour of putting confident, capable Charlotte on the throne. After all, Britain’s queens do have a rather spectacular track record.
Later, by way of proof, earsplitting cheers greeted the appearance of the Queen on the balcony, a perfect, tiny figure in Wedgewood blue, waving to her adoring subjects. When she smiled in gratitude, the atmosphere was electrifying. Some of us even got dust in our eyes.
By his Gan Gan’s side, Prince Louis took on the role of court jester with extravagantly unfiltered four-year-old expressions of frustration, his hands melodramatically clamped over his ears as Typhoon fighter jets flew overhead.
Prince Andrew, whose convenient Covid sickie was a (vanishingly rare) stroke of common sense, was mercifully nowhere to be seen. A brief glimpse of the Duke of Kent served to remind us we have no idea as to his actual relationship to the Queen, but we grudgingly marvelled at the really rather impressive refusal of the Duchess of Sussex to accept her demotion.
Seen from a side window, Meghan somehow (my word but she’s a pro) managed to transmogrify humiliation into opportunity by projecting dazzling smiles and performative charm towards the minor royal greatgrandchildren with whom she’d been saddled.
Was Harry there? If so, he was mercifully eclipsed by the bravura performance of his missus, which was no bad thing given his new-found propensity for petulant scowls.
‘Thursday was all about Trooping the Colour and the unspoken politics of the balcony’
Later that evening, Charles and Camilla popped up at the Queen Vic, although the Prince of Wales seemed to be unaware that, as Danny Dyer’s royal lineage stretches back to Edward the Confessor, technically he should have been the one bowing to the pub landlord.
Then as dusk finally fell, beacons were lit across the nation as every corner of the country paid homage to the Queen. A kingdom united in respect and warmth.
The Jubilee Thanksgiving Service was held at St Paul’s on Friday morning. Her Majesty was permitted a morning off given she’s 96, but watched it on television like the rest of us. She will have observed a lot of interesting millinery, Prince Charles blowing an affectionate kiss to the Duchess of Cambridge and Boris Johnson, accompanied by his wife Carrie, being booed by onlookers as he made his way into the cathedral.
Arguably worse was to come when it transpired his assigned reading was a pointed rumination on integrity courtesy of Phillipians 4:8: “Whatever is true, whatever is honourable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable … think about these things.” Awkward.
At various points during the festivities William and Kate visited Cardiff, and hung out with Bonnie Tyler. Princess Anne fed gentoo penguins in Edinburgh Zoo. Prince Edward and Sophie Wessex did the honours in Northern Ireland where he pulled a pint of Guinness and she tried a Belfast bap. It all made inclusive sense at the time.
Saturday evening saw the Platinum Party at the Palace, where Queen opened the show, Rod Stewart committed an unforgivable crime against Sweet Caroline as Prince George joined in, Diana Ross closed the gig and the illuminations, including a corgi made up of drones flying in the sky, were spectacular. Diversity performed a witty dance mix, Charles (aged 73) rather toe-curlingly referred to his “Mummy” and – sad but true – the whole shebang was upstaged by the utterly unforgettable sight of the Queen performing a hilarious sketch with a CGI Paddington Bear, voiced by Ben Whishaw.
Her Majesty twinkled and smiled, displayed priceless comic timing and revealed that she, like Paddington himself, always carries a marmalade sandwich for later – in her handbag.
Two much-loved icons we couldn’t hold any dearer.
Finally, yesterday the £15million Platinum Jubilee Pageant rolled into town. Floats and open-topped buses, a peloton of 300 cyclists, performers from across Britain and the Commonwealth. Song, dance, puppetry, Timmy Mallett – and yet still a woman sitting behind Prince Charles unfathomably kept nodding off.
Prince Louis was at it again, fidgeting, wriggling and earning a lighthearted telling-off from Mike Tindall, husband of Zara. But as the pageant drew to an end, the Royal Standard was raised, indicating the presence of the Queen – and the appearance on the balcony that the crowd and one billion viewers across the planet so desperately hoped for.
Ed Sheeran sang a ballad. Wonderfully moving footage of Her Majesty over the last seven decades was projected on screens to the strains of “Perfect”. Then the moment came.
Elizabeth II, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories, Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith came out on to the balcony resplendent in green.
She smiled at each and every one of us. She waved. Lulu wept. Holly Willoughby and Rylan were overcome. God Save Our Gracious Queen.
‘Rod Stewart committed an unforgivable crime against Sweet Caroline as Prince George joined in’