Succinct, to the point, while outlining the ridiculousness of it all.
If I had to put my feelings on the pomp into one sentence I’d have to say: Too many heavily armed people, not enough horses.
Overall, I was mildly, not exactly disappointed, rather underwhelmed. By way of critical evaluation of heavily pomp loaded dos I’ve made a list:
My favourites by a long chalk are Royal funerals, not because one of their number is dead, but for the ceremony. Cornflake has noted that my choice of non-dance music is miserable and that taste is obviously reflected in my royal ceremonial preferences. As a sub list, the Queen’s was my favourite, then Prince Philip’s, followed by Diana’s, then the Queen Mother’s.
Second in the Fat Tart pomp charts, is Royal weddings, hours of fun. I’d find it hard to put them in order of preference. If pushed on the matter, Prince Harry’s was fabulous, I watched it in a greasy spoon type cafe, on a big screen with half a dozen students. Perhaps it was the event we made of it that made the event itself seem so good.
Lastly, Coronations, having only witnessed the one so far maybe I shouldn’t leap to this conclusion and I’ll update after the next.
GorJus and Marmalade came to chez Tart for brunch and Coronation action. We ate lots, drank lots and generally enjoyed lightly pissed chat during the, for Cornflake at least, excruciatingly long service. The presence of Penny Mordaunt’s fine bosoms and big gold object lifting abilities made it more bearable for my husband. Wearing a beautifully cut dress, she managed to say saucy, big, strong, but absolutely appropriate. A sartorial mine field admirably navigated. This good taste was made more notable by the many instances of participants, as Frenchie pointed out, looking like they’d come to take part in an historic royalty cos play event.
Penny and her outfit were not the only high points.
Camilla’s struggle with her crown, her hair, and her slightly too long dress were fabulous and may well constitute my absolute favourite parts of the comedy, sorry, ceremony. She bravely fought the urge to sort out the positioning of the crown herself, hands rising and falling, flaying desperately as the archbishop did his royal best to get it in place. This was followed by her sticking her fingers up inside it to sort out her hair, my guests and I were screaming, no! It was like a pantomime in our lounge. Walking while wearing her new hat and her very long dress was almost beyond her commoner capabilities. She was lucky to get back to the palace without substantial, frock/crown induced injury.
On the subject of hat issues, Princess Anne’s successfully removed Harry from sight throughout the proceedings. Planned or lucky happenstance for the anti-Harry league it’s hard to say. Prince of Perverts Andrew, was also out of sight, we looked for him but couldn’t see him, neither could we see a hat large enough to obliterate his figure completely. All day we looked, like playing a game of Royal ‘where’s Wally’. Amongst the super posh cars entering the palace after the ceremony was a very ordinary family car, we think he might have been in that, we also think it might have been an Uber.
We didn’t get to see what happened once they reached Buck house. I fear I missed a flyby. Cornflake, went out drinking, the rest of us headed off to the stables at Regent’s Park barracks. We wanted to see if we could catch any horses on their return from coronation duties. We waited out of the rain in a bus shelter and then they came. Pulling gun carriages and with the riders still in their outfits I was very nearly beside myself. I FaceTimed Frenchie so she might see too but was a bit too distant. She did however get a glimpse of and like the look of the heavily armed, handsome, blue eyed soldier at the gate. It was a shock to us all that a man with a machine gun would be so charming. GorJus was particularly taken with him, Marmalade was loving the aggressive motor bike outriders.
I barely know what to say or what that was all about.
We ate ice cream.
No coronation chicken though.
fat tart 