"Nothing to see here, move along!"
I was at Grunwick and Wapping, on those massive picket lines in a previous life, defending so-called "Spanish practices" happy daze indeed. Old habits die hard. My beliefs are deeply entrenched, forged over a lifetime, and I suspect many of us of a mildly advanced age are the same. Different stripes, perhaps, but we’ll likely go to our graves carrying the same convictions we journeyed through life with.
I still have my "Stuff the Jubilee" badge somewhere buried in a box in the loft, along with the rest of my teenage relics I daren’t open.
That said, I do respect other people's views. Just last month I had a lovely reunion with old colleagues, including a former boss I once adored (and fought with, in equal measure). She received an OBE for her work on the Prime Minister’s Business Council back in Cameron’s day. Princess Anne presented it at the Palace.
They had to line up, remain motionless, and wear some sort of badge, if I recall correctly. But what really struck me was that when it was her turn, Princess Anne actually asked insightful, relevant questions about her work. It wasn’t just the usual “how naice” platitudes. So yes credit where it’s due. They’re not all bad.
But still. As we lurch toward a more divided, poorer, angrier country, with a diminished role in the world, the monarchy feels increasingly like an outdated spectacle. Extravagant, out of touch, still snouts-in-trough, while the rest of us face the cutbacks. It’s becoming a harder act to sell.
And it is an act, when all’s said and done. A carefully crafted pageant, built over centuries of often brutal consolidation, designed to launder the warlords and mafiosi who clawed their way to the top of the heap long ago.
Wat Tyler trusted the King and that was his fatal error. That lesson echoes down the centuries: never mistake the velvet glove for anything but a cover for the mailed fist beneath.
And here’s something else worth pausing over: members of the armed forces don’t swear allegiance to the country or its people they swear it to the monarch. Symbolic, perhaps, but symbols matter. It's a constitutional sleight of hand, a leftover from an age when the nation was seen as the private estate of a sovereign, not the collective will of its citizens. It reminds us, subtly but persistently, who the ultimate power is meant to serve and it isn’t us.