Christopher Lee

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Queen Plays A Blinder & The Cameron-Clegg Duo Look Ordinary

8th May 2013

The British used to have loadsa style. Now they just have a time share salesman called Clegg and a shifty looking estate agent called Cameron upfront, until that is, until Wednesday this week when a couple of old souls one of them knocking on 87 and the other well over 90 and dressed for panto showed them how.

It was a show called the opening of Parliament.  It’s the annual thing that the Queen goes to the House of Lords at 1130am dressed in a white evening frock and wearing a top heavy crown and Prince Philip clanks around in sea-boots, sword and enough gold and medals to pay off the national debt.  

They arrive in some considerable jolly style too.  A big gold coach with bewigged guys in gold and red hanging on for dear life and plumed and shiny breast-plated horsemen (aka Household Cavalry) with spotless swords and more cheering crowds than Man U get at a home game.

They get to the Palace of Westminster with fanfares for majesty, salutes, bows and curtsies all round and go in by the Sovereign’s door, into the Royal robing room and then with  a Lord Great Chamberlain walking backwards, Gentlemen Ushers, The Keeper of the Privy Purse (presumably with the parking money), Norroy King of Arms, Clarenceux King of Arms, The Lord Privy Seal, Garter Principal King of Arms and a gaggle of very pretty Gentlemen Ushers and four sweet gold and red coated pages to hold the Queen’s crimson train, they slowly process to two huge thrones.

It’s then that a man with a cane and breeches is told to nip along to the House of Commons and fetch Clegg and Cameron and the other roughs  who are best known by the nation as useless bastards who can’t do anything about the economy for the rest of us but can do their own economies very well indeed by taking big salaries topped up with scammed expenses, some of which occasionally land them in jail, but not often enough.

Anyway, when the MPs, for that’s what these ne’re-do-wells are, have got as many of them into the bottom end of the Lords as they can, the Queen reads out what her government is planning to do for the rest of the year.

Now cynics call this a farce.  The Queen of course may be off-with-his-head regal and the duke may glare savagely as 90-something admirals tend to do, but we are told they have no power.  Yet it was the MPs who came to her when she called them in.

And if you read the opinion polls, which governments do nothing else but read opinion polls, you’ll see that the Queen’s rating is about 80%.  The time share guy and the estate agent can’t get higher than low 50s.  And when it comes to real power, then there’s a golden show biz rule – style is power and style collects votes from the show goers.

Outside, in the streets of Westminster, the Queen’s golden coach trundles back to the palace and the people who have waited in glum weather wave and cheer. The guys who are supposed to have power stroll self-consciously back to the Other Place, the Commons, while a few tourists stare and wonder who this badly dressed and rhubarb chatterers are.  When they get onto the green benches in the Commons they start shouting at each other.

They have plenty to do but no idea how to do it.  The economy is up to them.  The economy gets worse.

Back at the palace, they Queen slips off her shoes and the duke slings his sword into the hat stand with Victoria antler horns on top. She’s been there for 61 years this summer and is one of the most famous people of the 20th century anywhere in the world.  Clegg? Cameron? Who?

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