By Abigail Pennson, our reasonable, plain-speaking middle-class columnist who agrees with whatever Trump’s current position on the Chagos Island is
NOBODY does pageantry better than Britain. But there’s one bit of pomp and ceremony we’ve not indulged in for a while, and it would draw one hell of a crowd.
We’ve had Platty Joobs. We’ve had the funeral. We’ve had the coronation. And never has the public needed its faith in the innate marvellousness of the Royals renewing so much as now.
Imagine it. The hushed tones of Clive Myrie, commenting: ‘I think we’re seeing some movement and yes, there he is, Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor has stepped onto the scaffold! Such a roar from the crowd.
‘There he is, in a traditional knitted silk vest, and he’s approaching the executioner’s block. The executioner who normally works in a slaughterhouse in Ayrshire and told us earlier how honoured he is to play his part in this none more historic occasion.
‘Raising his axe high and – yes – the head is off! A beautifully clean blow. We’ll see that again in slo-mo, but let’s just zoom in on the basket and oh, just look at his expression. Makes it all worthwhile.’
What an occasion. Crowds waving Union Jacks lining the streets to see the tumbril cart pass by. Andrew gamely smiling. The King himself turning down one final request for clemency. Kate, resplendent in a crimson Alessandra Rich coat dress.
The Americans would love it. They’d be block-booking London hotels. The other so-called crowned heads of Europe? As ever, we’d be setting them an example. Got the balls to execute your princess’s errant son, Norway? We have.
And of course, as on those other great occasions, the British public would respond enthusiastically to being given a day off. We’d be buying plates and mugs commemorating the moment while getting legless in our millions.
It’s what Andrew deserves and what the country needs. Diana cheated us out of our chance in the 90s; let’s not miss it again. Come on Charlie. We’ve had a Royal Knockout, now give us a Royal Execution.
