They happened to stroll past the TV, mid-service. Some Aussie backpackers are staying with me. Talk to most Aussie kids about the king, and they presume you’re referring to Elvis Presley in Baz Luhrmann’s biopic. The big question is, will this new Carolean age resonate with young people? Harry’s book Spare besmirched the Firm’s brand with the younger British generation. But it was their beam at each other that proved the best moment of the day – a tender look between two devoted lovers that said: “We bloody well made it.” I soon found myself among a happy throng chanting “Long live the king” and moments later, the euphoric couple, crowned and gowned, were beaming down on us. “Come the revolution,” Billy quipped, “we’ll all live in castles like this!” The then Prince of Wales laughed softly: “Well, I won’t.” Billy told me how Robin Williams and Eric Idle were teasing him for holding socialist beliefs while being lord of his own manor.
My favourite example of his deliciously self-deprecating humour took place at a dinner in Billy Connolly’s Aberdeenshire castle.
Charles has always sought the company of court jesters, from Spike Milligan and Barry Humphries to Miriam Margolyes and Stephen Fry. When I first met Charles at the Australian high commission, 30-odd years ago, I cheekily explained this, concluding: “So, g’day, from one aristocrat to another!” The prince twinkled then pretended to pat his pockets to check for his wallet.Ī fact few Brits seem to know about your new king is that he has a cracking sense of humour. My ancestors were transported on the first and second fleets, making me the creme de la crim. Yes, it’s an incongruous look with floral jammies, but in Australia we have inverted snobbery: convict stock makes you antipodean royalty. I only fish for compliments and refused to pull my head in until I’d elicited one, as I was wearing my Swarovski tiara. “They’re going fishing?” he asked, bemused. I called out of the window to my Irish boyfriend that Helena was carrying Camilla’s rod. Although, as female dignitaries filed into the abbey, some of their hats were so ornate that I felt sure they’d have to be moved in and out of their seats by servants using block and tackle.Īs the ceremony kicked off, my pal Helena Kennedy, the human rights lawyer, suddenly made an appearance.
(Just as well, as accidental beheadings are not a good look on the day.)įriends were texting me from the abbey: where was Harry? Would he be given a seat with a restricted view? As in, from a cell in the Tower? I was disappointed no eccentric toff took the invitation to wear a suit as an excuse to don clanking heirloom armour. Penny Mordaunt, poised and dignified, didn’t display any upper-arm wobblage despite the weight of that huge Excalibur. Like most plebs, I watched the coronation in my PJs, while secretly fantasising that I could be the broad with the sword.
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