You can say what you want about us Brits, but no one can take away our ingrained capacity to nail pomp, circumstance and royal celebration. A point gloriously highlighted over a weekend witnessing two days of festivities to mark King Charles III’s coronation.
As expected the ceremony which saw our new monarch crowned was undertaken with forensic precision; the observance underpinned by centuries of history and tradition.
Among the centuries old trinkets making an appearance for Chas’ wingding the royal crowns, the regal sceptre and orb, along with a reading from a 6th century book of gospels…. My initial thought upon witnessing the 1,400 year old tome’s arrival was a hope it wasn’t originally loaned from a library… Blimey, can you think how big the fine would be if it was!!
Charles and his queen Camilla gold coach took them to Westminster Abbey as the clock neared 11am on Saturday… Which was lucky, as if it’d took them to St Paul’s Cathedral they’d have gone to the wrong bloody church and all the planning would’ve been for nothing!
While the royal couple alighted from the jewelled and gilt transport, above angelic cherubim and seraphim endeavoured to catch a view of proceedings through the rain filled nimbus clouds. As he walked, our soon to be crowned monarch contending with cloaks weighing the equivalent of a small child, or a very large parrot.
Footnote – Now perhaps Charles will have some idea of how I suffered for my art when playing Long John Silver in the Ainsley Scragg drama group’s 2003 pantomime ‘Polly Wants a Cracker’.
During the service, after having the crown placed on his bonce, I’m convinced I lipread Chas ask Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby (who isn’t in any way related to TV chef Ainsley Harriet) “Do my ears look big in this?”… A question which (if it happened, which it probably didn’t) I’d like to think Wellers replied “Of course they f***ing do… They are bloody huge… You look like a blinged up FA Cup!!”
I guess one advantage of the prominence of Charles III lugs will be there is no chance his bejewelled headwear will slip over his eyes; bringing with it jeopardy of tripping during an ad hoc rendition of the Hokey Cokey.
Talking of the party dance Hokey Cokey, this weekend there’s been a raft of celebratory bashes up and down our sceptred isle. My own soiree coming in the shape of a bbq in the back garden of my Ossett squeeze Sarah.
We were joined at this jamboree by the Leeds lass’ two grandkids, her youngest daughter Katelan and Sarah’s two son-in-laws.
Katelan, who can swear in five different languages, seemed highly impressed by the quality of the grilled food on offer. In fact, she was so enamoured at one point feeling moved to inform me “Ces hamburgers sont f***ing adorables, vous êtes t**t.”… With me only knowing one word in French (radiateur), I’m not sure what she was alluding to, but as a glass half full sort of guy, I took it as a compliment.
What would the French have said about their Anglo cousins coronation ceremony… I would like to think it’d be “Magnifique!”… Errrrrr, coming to think of it, it appears I actually know two French words.
I bought the meat from my local butcher Arthur. The only meat person I know whose shop also offers clothes alterations… Detractors say it’s a strange diversification of business, but I suppose the tailoring service comes in handy when you’ve just eaten six of his burgers.
Katelan’s partner Simon, who if you ever want boring shitless about tractor engine anecdotes, is great company. While I cooked some of Arthur’s rather splendid sausages, this amiable fella gave me a full insight into fixing a tractor camshaft… Where the hell Sarah got the tractor from, and how she got it into her garden, remains an enigma.
Liam, Sarah’s other son-in-law, is one of the cleverest blokes I know. That being said, I know some right thick s**tes so it’s not that much of an accolade… No seriously, apparently he is so clever he can build a rocket… That being said, with parking for space craft in Ossett at a premium he doesn’t bother constructing one; preferring instead to travel in his Seat… Well, that’s his excuse for not building one anyway!!
With her two adorable grandkids around, nice food and good weather, Sarah was in a buoyant mood as we took advantage of late spring sunshine. And, after fleecing me out of part of my burger and sausages, her enchanting German Shepherd dog Zella was also in decent spirits.
All in all, not a bad weekend… God Save the King!
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