When it comes to the royals, I’m pretty indifferent. I tend to have very little signs of emotion on my face when they’re mentioned. They don’t really appear on my radar at all.
But this week there was the jubilee. I would had to have locked myself in the bedroom for two days to avoid it. Those of us breathing and with the capacity for sight and sound were in the firing line when it came to media coverage of the ridiculously hyped event.
So basically, it was a big party for the queen being 60 years in the same job. It was more or less a congratulations for the fact that she’s still on the go at 86. Fair enough.
That said, I have never seen anybody so underwhelmed looking at what was probably the biggest party I’ve seen in my life. That’s where the royal thing gets me.
Firstly, you have a queen, a head of state who clearly has the capacity to influence the masses. You just had to look at the crowds outside Buckingham Palace to see what so many deluded people think of her. She could stand up and address the nation about all sorts of pressing issues. She could, in some way, make a difference.
She rarely does. She rarely speaks at all, her jubilee being a point in case.
When at the end of the concert, the Windsors took to the stage with the great Paul McCartney, Charles went straight for the microphone with the ever more prominent Camilla by his side and ‘mummy’, as he creepily referred to her, standing in the background.
As he spoke - relatively well, it has to be said - his mother barely flinched.
She has this strange mouth thing which isn’t quite a smile or a frown but it’s just not a very approachable look. For a woman whose job has been receiving posies and shaking hands for the past sixty years, you’d expect her to be a bit better at looking friendly,
The second thing that gets me about the royals is the fact that people celebrate their very existence. You can jubilee party the night away if you like and it won’t offend me. I just don’t understand why.
When the sea of union jacks were being waved victoriously all over London on Monday I just couldn’t fathom what there was to celebrate - and it’s not an anti-English thing.
I can see why people commemmorate the end of the World Wars and other things which have had a direct impact on how they live their lives, but I guarantee, if the royal family ceased to exist tomorrow, the wee woman in the Fountain would still have to get up and buy a loaf and a pint of milk.
If the Queen had never taken the throne 60 years ago, London would still be a great city.
So what exactly is there to say well done for? Commentators have been tripping over themselves all week to toast who many of them view as Britain’s most remarkable woman.
Is remarkable really still about occupying a castle, flying around the world and indulging sycophants at every turn. Surely not?
How about a bit more focus on the millions of remarkable women who are struggling to raise families in the worse recession the country’s seen in years.
The women who work with victims of abuse and addiction.
The countless women grossly underpaid and undervalued as carers.
Instead, every time the queen says something remotely human she’s held up as some kind of inspiring beacon.
For me, the whole celebration is up there with Chinese, algebra and nuclear physics. I just don’t understand any of it.