I suppose you are glued to your screens awaiting my opinion on the State Opening Ceremony.
As you know I have little time for the precedence of a monarchal society, it seem very anachronistic to say the least.
Watching the dignitaries, the pomp and circumstance, the labels of state, linking the past opportunities to bequeath favours from the crown on its Dukes and Lordships with today's community made up of men and women from all strata of society, the rich and the poor who also wait patently for their opportunity.
In their ermine, amidst the flummery and ancient uniforms of state, this nation which is trying to test itself against the world and asking its citizens to judge it for the future, and instead puts on a pageant which identifies it somewhere around 1640.
Gentlemen at Arms, Lord Great Chamberlain the Lord Spiritual, the Garter at Arms, the Lords Temporal and so the list goes on as the television commentators in hushed tones explain to the masses the significance of this and that but lost no doubt on Mrs Wright in number 34 who has just received a notice to quit because she has an extra bedroom.
The Coach carrying the accoutrements of state, the Crown, (not the heavy job the monarch gets when he/she becomes King/Queen at the State Coronation, oh no, we have another priceless one for that) the Sword of State and the Cap of Maintenance proceeds the Queens coach and the pass the parcel of getting the crown out of the coach is somewhat amusing
Black Rod heads towards the Commons to summon the commoners by wrapping his staff three times on the door leading into the Commons which had been closed as a reminder to the Lords of who actually runs the place.
The two old nonagenarians totter down the long carpet (sad that a septuagenarian 70+ and a octogenarian 80+ become "non" when they reach 90+) dressed in regal clothes, he wears the uniform of the Lord High Admiral with gold braid up to his elbow and one wonders sadly if they will make it. This year they went in the lift to avoid the steps and we were told of an amusing story of a couple of years ago when the Queen and Philip entering the lift with Black Rod reaching for the button to go down, all of a sudden the lift went up to the floor above. The doors opened on a couple of cleaners going about their daily duties who had called the lift first. Imagine the embarrassment trying to make room for the buckets.
The Beast of Bolsover, Dennis Skinner, an octogenarian himself a remnant of the past, a socialist who's quip this year to Black Rod was "keep your hands off the BBC", recuses himself from attending what he clearly feels is an occasion, well passed its sell by date.