God Save the Queen – from the rest of us

There is something rather apt about having platinum as the designated marker for a 70th anniversary: it speaks to still being highly valued but suggests rather less sparkle than there was on the diamond day 10 years before.

Poor old Elizabeth. What with the loss of her beloved Philip and the family rows, it’s no wonder that she might feel this jubilee doesn’t quite have the exuberance of the previous one. If it wasn’t for Craig David performing at the palace party, the whole thing could easily be a washout.

The Queen is nothing if not a trooper, however, and by dint of her obvious sense of public service (and her grand age), she is largely a unifying force in this country. And heaven knows we need a bit of that at the moment.

There have been missteps along the way of course; but given the obvious challenges attached to defending the notion of a hereditary head of state, it is a testament to Her Majesty’s character and commitment that the idea of abolishing the monarchy remains a minority view.

The real miracle is that she hasn’t become completely fed up with the day-to-day aspects of the job. If my encounter with her was anything to go by, there can’t be much fun to be had when you’re at the top of the royal tree.

Back in 1999, it was the 750th anniversary of the college at which I was studying, and the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh were to be given a grand tour. Part of this would involve meeting some of the students. As the then captain of the college cricket team, I got the nod along with various other sporty bods, society presidents and what not. We were told to arrive in the appointed room by 11am, and ideally to wear something which would indicate our various roles.

Sure enough, with a few minutes to spare, I popped a cricket jumper over whatever else I was wearing and made my way to join the other chosen ones – probably 30 or so in all. As I entered, I realised I had boobed.

For a start, it turned out that half of the college’s clubs and societies had special blazers or ties their members could wear. Even those who were wearing obvious sports tops had matched them with demure trousers and highly polished shoes. I had on a pair of tatty jeans and some scuffed, tan-coloured footwear, not to mention various friendship bracelets in bright tones. I think there may even have been a bead necklace. Horrific. But it was the Nineties.

Too late to change, I stood nervously in line hoping to be ignored. No such luck. As Her Maj reached me, I gave a brief nodded bow as we had been instructed; but the bit about calling her “Your Majesty” completely deserted me and instead I offered a cheery “Hello there!”. The monarch looked me up and down, not in a pleased way, and said the words she must have uttered in her life more than any others: “So, what do you do?”

“How funny!” I replied, “I was about to ask you the same thing!”

If only. No, in fact, I explained jolly seriously my important position and we had a brief, agreeable chat about the cricket World Cup, which was being played in England at the time. The Queen said she wasn’t keen on the coloured clothes worn for the competition, and I sycophantically said I agreed (though really, I thought they were fine). She had a little smudge of lipstick on her teeth, which reminded me of my grandmother.

After a minute or two, the monarch moved on, and I was left to consider my lack of poise. In a photo of the encounter, I appeared to be flicking a V-sign, which was the unintentional icing on the cake of my embarrassment.

Yet if I felt that I’d let the side (and my mother) down, for the Queen, our brief meeting was one of perhaps 50 she would have that day. To every student, from the scruffiest to the glossiest, and from the most nervous to the most confident, she was pleasant and apparently interested, listening to whatever trivial nonsense we had to say without glazing over.

During the 70 years of her reign, how many people must the Queen have spoken with? Thousands who said the wrong thing, became flustered, messed up protocols, wittered drearily or handed over unwanted gifts. And yet, on she has gone, serving her public.

The monarchy may be an anachronism, but I still think it’s better than the alternative. So, on the occasion of her platinum jubilee, I say: God Save the Queen – from the rest of us.