“He is entitled to wear his medals,” said another correspondent, grudgingly. “I think it’s right that he is here,” said Farage with all the ex cathedra grandeur of a man who has tried and failed to become a member of parliament several thousand times. When the furtive Duke of York arrived at Westminster Abbey, Starkey launched into a frenzied description of his robes, which involved several asides, aperçus, put-downs and anecdotes, including what sounded like something close to a unilateral declaration of war on France. Starkey was brilliantly mad, superbly galvanised. For some reason, the picture quality there had been set to 240 pixels, which made everything look like it had been filmed with a toaster. There, proceedings were being covered by an unholy trinity: Nigel Farage, David Starkey and Alastair Stewart. I sought calm, so I switched over to GB News.
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Earnest “God Save the King” comments were soon lost in a hurricane of full caps-lock screaming and Diana slurs. As Charles was heaved into the historic Gold State Coach, one user posted a constant stream of links to pasta recipes.
Science and Technical Research and DevelopmentĬNN’s coverage was also being streamed live on YouTube, accompanied by a rolling comments section.Infrastructure Management - Transport, Utilities.Information Services, Statistics, Records, Archives.Information and Communications Technology.HR, Training and Organisational Development.Health - Medical and Nursing Management.Facility / Grounds Management and Maintenance.The state frock-coated Household Cavalry streamed behind him at one point, and Bradby admitted, “I’m not much of a horseman.” Tom, we could have guessed that. Tom Bradby, who is approaching 60 but presents as a 37-year-old Hackney-dad Everyman, was chatty and informative, and far less reverence-addled than Kirsty Young. On ITV there was a slight easing on the etiquette front, and a popping of rhetorical buttons. The BBC, like the monarchy itself, is good at this one thing: saying nothing with authority. A photo of Charles pondering a lasagne flashed on the screen. He told Kirsty Young how much the King liked organic vegetables. It was still morning, and Oliver seemed rough and curled at the edges, like a wide boy who had been brought in off the street after a big night in the City.
The rain fell.Įarlier, Jamie Oliver had appeared in the BBC commentary box. London looked fish-grey and dull as old pennies on the screen. Does the King believe in pathetic fallacy? Well, he believes in reincarnation, the primordial revealed wisdom of all ancient faiths, and used to (apparently) be a big fan of Melanie Phillips’s writing, so pathetic fallacy is hardly a stretch. “Just a light drizzle,” said the BBC’s Sophie Raworth, as a relentless driving rain pissed it down all over the Mall. If we are not mad, our television royalty is, at the very least, blind. Are we mad? You have to ask the question on Coronation Day.
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