God save the Queen. No, seriously, because it turns out that since this all kicked off, binge-watching royal family documentaries has become my ultimate comfort activity. I used to go to the theatre or hug my friends, now I just sit at home obsessing over a family who have never had to pre-book a Sainsbury’s shop three weeks in advance just to get some pasta and loo roll. As someone who would normally caveat any discussion of the monarchy with an earnest Leftie speech, my new favourite activity has left me with two big questions. One: is the Queen OK? And two: who have I become? Well, first of all a person asking for your Princess Margaret biography recommendations.
I’ve hit upon the perfect formula to soothe my soul. Some are mainlining episodes of old TV — Jonathan Creek is having a resurgence. But I’m getting through this by becoming a one-woman RoyFam fan club. There are two very big reasons why. One is that so many of The Firm’s flashpoints feel like a different type of stress compared to what we face now. When the world is falling apart, thinking of Prince Philip’s stealth campaign to preserve the name of Mountbatten brings delightful distraction. It’s silly, old-fashioned and the sexual politics are often questionable, like all good period dramas — the perfect balm when the world is crumbling to dust.
The other thing is that they’ve. Just. Always. Been. There. (Apart from that brief hot mess in the 17th century.) This is a family that knows how to survive: in 1917 George V refused refuge in Britain for his cousin Tsar Nicholas II, in case it made the public angry at the monarchy. The next year the tsar and his entire family were murdered. The Queen herself — turning 94 today — has become the world’s longest-reigning monarch. Her recent public broadcast felt like a heavy-duty calming hypnosis session for a flustered nation.
When Prince Charles contracted coronavirus, it temporarily ripped to shreds my theory that the royal family are in a fascinating, detached world. Yes, he shakes strangers’ hands for a living, but I still felt disbelief that even the Prince of Wales couldn’t be protected by singing Happy Birthday twice.Fortunately when I saw pictures of Camilla clapping for the NHS at her Balmoral window like a stoical hostage my sense of equilibrium returned.
Since then, the gang have done nothing but deliver. We’ve had Princess Anne’s savage Vanity Fair cover interview; Kate navigating Zoom calls like an angel from heaven; and Fergie reading Hairy Maclary on YouTube in the manner of a woman eternally watchful that Emily Maitlis is hiding in the corner. Even Prince Philip has emerged to thank key workers.
What a relief: there’s going to be more than enough material for the next round of documentaries.
Finally finished The Phantom
Finally! Something to show for all these hours at home. No, I’ve not finished my novel, but I have got round to watching all two hours and 30 minutes of The Phantom of the Opera, thanks to Andrew Lloyd Webber’s free live-streamed shows. Surely highly relevant since it tells the story of a masked man (no, he doesn’t have it). Ramin Karimloo and Sierra Boggess’s performances reminded me how talented the theatre crowd really are.
