Happy and Glorious!

I have a million and one things to do today so this blog is just a collection of short takes: no research, no ‘clever’ logic, probably more typos than usual. It’s my disparate thoughts on the Coronation of KC3.

I wasn’t going to watch it. Bit glum recently because of unsettling news coming on top of the first anniversary of Mum’s passing, but at the last minute I sat on the sofa with my laptop to write a blog about reparations for slavery (what timing!) and was glued for hours.

Happy and Glorious indeed. The majesty, the mystique, the music. OMG the music! The tradition, colour, warmth, pride. The whole thing exuded love.

The usual suspects are complaining about the financial cost. Well they would, wouldn’t they. I look at it as an investment: in diversity and inclusion, the Christian teachings, community cohesion, national pride, military discipline, showcasing Britain at its best, in smiles on people’s faces. It put a smile on my face which takes some doing at the moment.

Ah yes, diversity and inclusion, yet still that silly bism complained that the balcony scene was ‘too white’. Racism at its most rabid. Hatred at its most horrible. The look on Myleene Klass’s face said it all: disbelief, disgust.

Princess Anne’s feather blocked Prince Harry’s sourpuss face. Sweet! Then she rode behind her brother, officially his bodyguard. What a trooper she is.

The message of to serve and not to be served. William’s kiss on his father’s cheek and Charlie looking as if he were about to burst into tears (I know I did).

Charlie’s gobsmackingly handsome equerry. And the boys had something to ogle at with Penny Mordaunt. I loved the headline in the Times: "The Penny is mightier than the sword". What I do like about Mordaunt – she’s not a favourite of mine because she’s spoken in favour of the damaging trans ideology – is she rocks all her outfits because she has a lovely curvy figure. She has an actual figure, whereas Kate Middleton is scrawny and unhealthy looking, a stick insect in lipstick. Her clothes look like they’ve been sprayed on. There’s not enough material to sway, to soften, to enjoy. Eat some carbs, girl!

The police disallowing any protest against Monarchy made me uncomfortable because I’m all for free speech. But they were never going to get it 100% right, were they? They had a choice that day: risk physical harm on an unimaginable scale or risk the wrath of a few. You don’t protect freedom of speech by denying others their freedom to stay safe in a tinder-box situation or, more widely, get to work, funerals, and hospitals. My questions to the Met’s critics are: how much anti-monarchy protests would you have allowed, and how would you have reacted if they’d started to chain themselves, glue themselves, or spook horses with rape alarms? I expect the crowd would have turned on them and killed them.

I was a bit cross at all the rubbish left behind after the crowds had gone. Glastonbury on steroids.

The next day, I went with my good friend H up to the village for the festivities in the Recreation Ground. As well as H, I was accompanied by Mum (I wore her wedding ring), my Nana (I wore her wedding ring) and my great-grandma (I wore her 1864 watch). I forgot to wear Dad’s hat-feather. I made amends that evening by wearing it while sipping a glass of his favourite sherry and watching Shawshank Redemption – about a guy educating prisoners, which is what Dad did but not as a fellow con.

As I noted above, the Coronation was about serving. It was also about family – the Royal Family, the British family, the Commonwealth family, the Christian family, the military family, inviting everyone else’s family to share our very British happiness.

Rule Britannia!