Say what you want about the Royal family, but they provide British people with a sense of stability in increasingly uncertain times.
In my own case, for example, I know that without fail I'm going to be confused and embarrassed every time I have to hear anything about them. You can't go five minutes these days without a celebrity you once respected turning out to have said or done something awful, but with the Royals you know they're already awful and baffling. That kind of reliability is rare these days.
That said, I try NOT to hear too much about them, but it's a futile effort because we're having a Coronation on Saturday. I say “We.” What I really mean is that the artist formerly known as Prince Charles will be declared King, despite having been King since last year when his mother died and kicked off another interminable news avalanche that I couldn't escape. Although when Charles is placed on a throne and given a magic hat, having been driven through London in a gold carriage, it will all be paid for with public money. So perhaps “we” is correct after all, in that I paid for some of it.
The embarrassment and confusion doesn't just come from living in a country that is run by people who have magic hats and gold carriages. It gets far more ridiculous than that.
Already, the Stone Of Destiny has been brought down from Scotland so that Charles' rule is legitimised there, too. “The Stone of Destiny” sounds like a fantasy McGuffin that someone would create as a place holder with the intention of coming up with a less ridiculous name in the edit, but it's a real thing. Or at least it's a real stone, and a pretty underwhelming one at that.
In an attempt to inject a sorely needed sense of awe into the story, the BBC pointed out that the stone is “over a thousand years old,” which is actually pretty common for, y'know… stones.
Not content to involve the Stone of Destiny, there are magic swords in play. I wish I was kidding. Tory MP Penny Mordaunt will be carrying the Sword of State, while Lord Richards of Herstmonceux - a man I'm not convinced isn't a satirical character that has somehow broken through into reality - will be carrying the Sword of Spiritual Justice. Which sounds crazy, until you learn that Lord Houghton of Richmond is carrying the Sword of Temporal Justice. Air Chief Marshall Lord Peach will be carrying the Sword of Mercy, and Lord O'Lordy Lourde will be wielding the Iron Cudgel of Friendship.
Alright, that last one isn't true but it's no more laughable or made up than any of the others when you think about it.
If this weren't all crazy enough, the Pope has decided to bury the hatchet with the King (head of the upstart Church of England since Henry VIII decided Catholicism wasn't letting him get divorced quickly enough), not with some sort of magical Hatchet of Buried Grievances but by sending a sceptre containing pieces of the True Cross. The one that Jesus was crucified on.
It's patent nonsense. The story is that in three-hundred-and-something A.D., the Roman Emperor Constantine's mother travelled to the Holy Land and found a preserved cross with the name of Jesus on it, then had it “revealed to her by god” that it was indeed the one used at the crucifixion.
Call me cynical, but I'm not convinced. Also, if you want to see ancient stones and very old wood, you should at least pick the version that plays “Satisfaction” as an encore.
I don’t want to hear anything more from transphobes, ever, by the way. There’s quite a broad crossover between people who say “you can’t call girls boys!” or “you can’t magically change your gender!” and people who support the King sitting on the Stone of Destiny next to the Sword of Spiritual Justice wielded by the Lord of Herstmonceux and somehow maintain a straight face.
Putting aside - if it’s even possible - the utter madness of all the ceremonial tat and supernatural jewellery and weapons that add +5 to Subjugation Of Peasants, the Coronation does tell us something important about the monarchy, and not just who’s the current head of it.
As mentioned, we, the British taxpayers, are paying for the whole thing. This is at a time when poverty in the UK is reaching crisis point. Reportedly, the UK now has more food banks than branches of McDonalds. Fuel and electricity companies continue to report soaring profits while a great many people go hungry.
It would have been the easiest thing in the world for Charles to pay for his own party. He has the money. Instead, he anounces with a literal fanfare that the only thing he cares more about than adulation is holding on to his money.
We’re told in fawning profiles that the King cares deeply about the environment. He also owns vast tracts of land, so logically he should be plastering said land with solar panels and wind farms and generating free power for his subjects.
But he won’t, because that would spoil his views if he ever vistis. Once again, he “cares” about the environment, but not as much as he cares about remaining wealthy and living the cushiest life imaginable.
We’re told that the King is just and fair, and given the example that he has largely ostracised his paedophile brother. Except that that monarchy has also exempted itself (as it it allowed to do) from a hundred and sixty UK laws over the years, including laws on diversity and, crucially, tax.
Because the King cares about the law. Just not as much as he cares about remaining above it.
On Saturday, we will all be invited to take an oath at home in support of “the King and his heirs” - a group which DOES still include Andrew, legally speaking. It’s not mandatory, it’s just an option, but the fact that swearing fealty to a group that includes at least one child rapist in the world’s largest and most cringeworthy kareoke event isn’t being legally enforced is not the only reason I won’t be taking part.
In fact, I’m going to turn the tables. I’m inviting Prince Charles and all his heirs to kiss my ass. It’s not mandatory, it’s just something that they are able to do if they feel like it. Although if they want to come and do it, they’ll have to pay for the privilege themselves.