When the Queen showed her true colours

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2012/jun/03/kevin-mckenna-queen-supports-celtic

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There are more than a few reasons why I shall join with my fellow Britons in celebrating Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II's diamond jubilee this holiday weekend. I may stop just short of putting out the red, white and blue favours on my balcony; nevertheless, more than a few glasses will be raised in honour of my queen. Who knows, but if I have imbibed a sufficient quantum of the jungle juice, perhaps I may even belt out a couple of Rule Britannias.

One of the most memorable events in my life occurred a few years back when I had the privilege of escorting her around the newspaper for which I then worked (may I crave your indulgence if you have heard this before?). I had admired her for years, but my affection, of necessity, had to remain largely secret owing to the anti-monarchial tendencies of most of my friends and associates. I had been told by others who had met Elizabeth that they hadn't fully understood what was meant by the word "grace" until they had been introduced to her. Each one of us scrofulous journalists to whom she granted an audience that day was charmed by her.

And, speaking personally, I felt she had gone above and beyond in putting me at my ease. I had previously been informed of her incredible attention to detail before she meets the lieges. Even so, it still came as a pleasant shock when she greeted me. For she had put on a lovely and fetching emerald green number with a beautiful white necklace and a pair of spotless white gloves. And was that not a yellow flower clasped within the band of her green hat? My head swam with the possible conversations she'd had with the Special Branch officers who had been dispatched weeks previously to ensure we all knew about the protocol attached to an occasion such as this.

"Ma'am, the chap who will be escorting you around the premises seems a rum sort and, we are reliably informed, a mad Celtic man. A photograph of that other royal personage, Henrik Larsson, hangs in his office. Perhaps you could put him at his ease by donning something suitable for the occasion?"

"What a splendid idea. Philip and I well remember that, in 1953, the mighty Celtic of whom you speak and their fine, young captain, John Stein (God rest him) lifted the Coronation Cup held to commemorate my accession to the throne. They also brought honour to my realm by becoming the first British club to lift the European Champion Clubs Cup in 1967."

I also feel that Elizabeth possesses qualities that can command the affection of those of us who are both Scots and of the left on the political spectrum. For I feel that she is a very inclusive, diverse and generous woman, whose selfless devotion to public service makes many of our senior civil servants look like grasping, overpaid and unaccountable whingers.

Those of you who have formed the view that she lives a gilded and affluent lifestyle with a Coutts bank account to match and the run of stately piles all over the kingdom are being deliberately jejune. For there is only one thing worse than being poor and that's being rich but without the opportunity to choose what to spend it on. What's the point of being worth millions if only other people decide and plan every waking minute of your life? And knowing that, on many days, you must shake hands and appear relaxed and friendly when confronted by grinning eejits such as me?

I think I empathised with her most in the aftermath of the death of her daughter-in-law, Diana. It seemed that Britain, at this time, had been stricken by an epidemic of artificial lamentation. The Lord only knows how many working days were lost by people citing Diana Syndrome for their absence. Any boss initiating disciplinary proceedings would have been lynched by the mob, among them the tossers who demanded that their queen cease her private grieving to share in their bacchanal of false mourning.

This would not have happened if she had been Scotland's queen and only Scotland's queen. In this country, we tend to respect death a bit more and give it a bit of room to get on with its business. We don't like encroaching too much on the territory of those who mourn; perhaps a handshake, a hanky and a hug. And then after a week, maybe two, we'll pop round and exaggerate the virtues of the deceased over a session in the pub. We do not collapse and wail like Haitian zombie-worshippers and then demand that the close relatives do likewise.

In recent weeks, I have also had fun observing one of the greatest differences between Scotland and England. If recent visits to Manchester and York are emblematic of England as a whole then it's quite clear that the royal family, if they so wished, could regain their ancient feudal rights. Such is the fervour with which the diamond jubilee is being embraced south of the border that even such royal wasters as Prince Airmiles Andy and his really useless younger brother, Prince Edward, could get concupiscence with any maiden in England under the right of droit de seigneur. Only with great difficulty did my companion, who is as English as the Chelsea flower show, resist singing Jerusalem when we passed a country churchyard. In some places, entire villages will party on the greensward in the manner of their little hooded forebears in Robin Hood or Ivanhoe.

I think, though, the Queen would prefer a more understated celebration of her 60 years on the throne. I think, if she was really being honest with herself, she cringes inwardly at all the forced jollity that England is wearing throughout these celebrations. A few dozen street parties will occur in Scotland and only here and there will there be union flags in evidence.

This, though, should not be taken to signify that we love the Queen any less. It's just that we don't feel we own the poor woman. If it was up to many of us, we would simply say a wee prayer of thanks for her. And some of us might club together for a bouquet to be sent to her house, wishing her all the very best for the future.