A memorable few days watching other people celebrate the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee. David and Kristine duly arrived on Saturday, having been held up by the usual tailback at Elveden, and we had a late lunch followed by a walk along the river bank, then up on to St James Hill and back through Lion Wood and the Rosary, trying to avoid street parties in deference to our guests’ preference. The weather was cool, but dry, as it remained following our meal for the walk up to the Maddermarket to see Alan Ayckbourn’s play Time of my Life, with the cast including both Trevor Burton and David Newham, former colleagues at the EDP. Excellent production, ending to David’s mortification with the singing of the national anthem! He suspected I had arranged it, but sadly this was not the case.
We took our guests to church for a relatively jubilee-free service, then had lunch at jubilee-free Prezzos. Following this we caught glimpses of the River Pageant, sloppily covered by the BBC, who told you everything you didn’t want to know and nothing you did. The weather got worse and worse, and it was not much fun for the surprisingly upbeat spectators, one of whom was another former colleague, Ian Bullock. He related (on Facebook) that he stood for for hours on the Embankment, getting colder and wetter, and then when it was all over found that both the Embankment and Charing Cross tube stations were helpfully closed and everyone was converging on Leicester Square. I don’t even want to think about it.
Through it all the Queen was serene and the Duke of Edinburgh was becoming ill. He ended up in hospital on the Monday with a bladder infection, which is not surprising, and missed the Jubilee Concert, which (inevitably, I suspect) was a collection of mediocre songs by people who used to be quite good. It says something that Tom Jones stood out. Felt sorry for Paul McCartney, who looked ill and bemused and was not in good voice. On the plus side, Madness on the palace roof (“Our House”) was a nice idea, the rain had stopped, and Prince Charles (who came out of the whole thing very well) made a speech that was about as good as it could have been. The Coomes had left on Sunday evening after tea.
The thanksgiving service on Sunday was splendidly and traditionally done and went without a hitch, though the Queen looked lonely without the Duke, who was still in hospital. Excellent new anthem – Call to Wisdom – by Will Todd, but as a writer I felt rather annoyed that the author of the words, Michael Hampel, was barely mentioned – rather as no-one knows (or mentions) who wrote the words to The Messiah. All right, I know they’re both basically biblical texts, but they still need to be compiled in some sort of poetic order. The Messiah libretto was written by Charles Jennens, by the way. I expect you knew that.
The Archbishop gave a good sermon on the theme of dedication and commitment, and the hymns were pretty dull, as expected. If you can have a new anthem, why can’t you have the odd modern hymn? The service was followed by a couple of receptions and a lunch, and then a carriage drive to the Palace, a balcony appearance by the Queen, Prince Charles and Camilla, William and Kate and Harry only. Despite gathering rain clouds, the air force did manage a fly-past with the usual beloved suspects. Those Spitfires are really something.
Dot and I watched all this on and off. I slipped out to Morrisons to buy food for the Tuesday Group, which eventually consisted of only six people. Harriet arrived late (no buses) and Vicky left early but had nine hours’ sleep unbroken when she got home. Dot had prayed that she got more sleep. This morning Barbara is here working with Dot, who has a huge amount to do during the next two or three weeks.