By The Landlord
A Royal Tribute Platinum Jubilee Special
"Like all the best families, we have our share of eccentricities, of impetuous and wayward youngsters and of family disagreements." – Queen Elizabeth II
"It is easy enough to define what the Commonwealth is not. Indeed this is quite a popular pastime." – Queen Elizabeth II
“Do you still throw spears at each other?” – Philip, Duke of Edinburgh
So then, Ma'am. Seventy years. That's some shift,
As up goes the bunting, and people might lift
A paper cup, wear plastic hat,
Saluting our sovereign royal diplomat.
Seventy years. That's some stint,
Dipping deep in the Royal Mint.
Seventy years of tight-lipped greeting,
In between each horse race meeting.
All that waving, all that drowning
In smiling, behind which, no doubt, hidden frowning.
10 million handshakes in settings deluxe,
So very awkward, so many clenched buttocks.
But it was always awkward, wasn't it?
Before you were primed as legitimate,
The heir as symbol to deploy,
The Crown were hoping for a boy.
And before you came? Well, the Windsor name,
Grandpa George V getting some blame,
Left it till 1917 to determine
The real royal name was far too German.
It's not ideal as war effort promoter
If your king's called Saxe-Coburg and Gotha,
But that is the royal way to park it –
Flapping about, then sweep under carpet.
Uncle Edward VIII with some undesirable friends …
Then Uncle Edward, aside abdication,
Which led to your Daddy's nervous oration,
In retrospect, something else rather tricky.
Framed in that infamous photo of '33.
Yes you were just seven and did as told,
You were controlled and being enrolled,
So perhaps it was funny, perhaps it looked cute
When joining with Ed in that Nazi salute.
Then suddenly you were Queen in '52
Thrown in the deep end of red, white and blue,
Took on some duties, toured for morale,
But things went awry at the Suez Canal.
Soon it became a farce and a fallacy,
To get too involved in our foreign policy.
The royal role became less hands-on.
But dressy ceremony you thrived upon.
From there your duties went mostly symbolic,
Being the straight one (while sister's alcoholic).
Greeting each statesman, commoner, celebrity,
Squeezing those hands of pretended integrity.
Seventy years then of smiling and greeting
In history of Britain that's long but quite fleeting,
From bloody invasions unceasing, unblinking
The British Empire – increasingly shrinking.
Always a chore - Churchill at your door,
He wouldn't shut up about him and the war.
Some tried to use you, some acted confidante,
While Thatcher was cold and always so arrogant.
Dictators and murderers, you've met them all,
Thieves and incompetents have set out their stall,
Ceaușescu to Trump, Johnson to Putin,
All touched your hand, all had a route in.
Total afront - Donald Trump
Clowns to the left of you, jokers to the right,
Stuck in the middle with you, Phil, each night.
Except that time when one Michael Fagin
Arrived in your bedroom. How did he get in?
Another moment that was some bother –
It happened at ‘81's Trooping the Colour,
The young man who suddenly got out a gun,
And shot blanks at One, well, that wasn't much fun.
So then to family. Ouch. Where then to start?
Charles and Diana - Princess of Tart?
Her death was quite sudden, a tricky tragedy,
But thankfully no longer in arms with that Dodi.
The nineties especially were far from bliss,
Big castle fire, annus horribilis,
Things were quite beastly, facing some facts,
Especially when One then must pay income tax.
Andrew and Fergie, always embarrassing,
Constantly begging for more from one's purse string.
Young Edward, oh dear, he's such a bore,
What then exactly is he really for?
Charles and his close friend Sir Jimmy Savile?
That was an awkward big knight to unravel.
But Andrew, the worst still, perhaps by some miles,
What was he doing with those pedophiles?
And then comes Harry, and ‘exotic’ wife,
Causing confusion, and quixotic strife.
You want to get out, but what sort of course
Will things take when it’s your turn for divorce?
So it’s a quite awkward big game to play,
And rather costly - a million a day,
To keep royals in riches, for all this excess,
(Same as the Brexit promise for the NHS).
Aha! Alan Partridge, or Curb Your Enthusiasm
Don't have a patch on the royals’ cringe chasm:
From a gold throne, with millions stuck in poverty,
Queen's Speech announces further austerity policy.
Awkward: with millions in poverty, Prince Charles announces latest Queen’s Speech austerity measures from the gold throne
Seventy years of expensive and awkward,
Taking our country “onwards” and “forward”,
So then good health, Liz, for times now long past,
Reign on, but when gone, Ma'am, you must be Last.
Seek out songs as if you were the Queen at he races …
So then, aside from any royal references, this week’s them is all about awkwardness, awkward moments, anything mortifyingly cringeworthy, or just a bit unseemly, bumbling, blundering and embarrassing. Leading this celebration, and turning your suggestions into playlists, is the outstanding Loud Atlas. Deadline is 11pm UK time on Monday for playlists published next week.
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