The Monarchy

Not thinking myself an anti-Monarchist in the small “r” republican sense, I didn’t give the Queen’s death much thought. Until I tuned in and said, What the blimey, I’ll watch a bit.

What’s the cockney for being blown away? The only rhyming slang I know is a bit too fish ‘n chips, heavy on the vinegar, for this broadsheet and probably wouldn’t go down too well in the Murdoch’s “Sun”, but hold your sausage and mash! I was riveted.

Early on in the coverage, the Prince, now King, is walking the line greeting his subjects and as he shakes a woman’s hand, she kisses it.

What?!

What did I just write? She kisses his hand?!

If that sort of thing happened in this country, the woman would be in leg irons, put in solitary and fed rancid water, rat-chewed crusts and treated worse than Chelsea Manning.

The new King seemed to think that the kiss was just fine and he kept moving down the line.

Lines, did I write? People waiting 24 hours to walk past the coffin, stopping for two seconds before moving on. And no one camping, vogueing, putting on airs, all of them dignified, respectful, I guess, veddy British.

At a small dinner party a while ago, two British women in attendance, both dear friends. The talk turned to the Royals. The one woman started trash-talking Meghan, she’s in it for the money sort-of-thing.

I, ever chivalric, came to the Duchess’s defense, saying that I thought she had endured lots of prejudice, with the good folks at Windsor grousing about little Archie possibly being of a darker hue. ( He seems to be about the whitest kid on the planet.)

My friend said, No, no one was doing that and that Harry and Meghan should have stayed to do their “duty.”

I almost lost it. DUTY? You mean like cutting ribbons for the opening of slag heaps?

What I did say was far more tempered, and certainly sexist.

And what’s wrong with having a gorgeous princess, I barked, in my best English sheepdog imitation. (No disrespect to Kate, pretty nifty herself.)

The Duchess in an interview said, I didn’t think it would be easy, but I did think it would be fair. Bloody right, Meghan.

The convo quickly moved on.

Prince William in military garb; Harry not, but oddly showing his medals nonetheless. On some sort of T-shirt?  I couldn’t quite tell.

The next day, both in military, with Harry’s medals on the outside of his uniform, tee shirt not in sight. The new King had insisted that Harry, despite his having given up slag heap duties, should be in full regalia and I am pretty sure that the King doesn’t have to give an order twice.

Have I become an unabashed Monarchist, giving up all republican leanings?

Not quite, but it’s hard to speak because my upper lip seems to have turned a bit stiff.

Lonnie Carter is a playwright, Obie winner and his signature play is “The Sovereign State of Boogedy Boogedy.”