We’re a funny lot, here in Great Britain. We fancy ourselves as a Nation of laws; of Heritage and of History. We cling to outmoded views and celebrate old-fashioned ideals; well, at least we used to. But the one thing which has cemented this strange mix of Celts, French, Roman (the really old kind, not the (Hammersmith & Fulham football-very-rich-but-unsubtle-bullies) kind; Welsh, Anglo-Saxon; is a tradition of how we are governed. Our Parliamentarians cut off a King’s head once, but we, or rather the Barons and Lords; invited his son to return as his successor. Charles 2nd returned to the throne after the death of the man who had executed his father, Oliver Cromwell. Cromwell’s rule was uneasy, as he had to balance between a possibility of military dictatorship, and a Parliament dominated by those gentry who disliked the Puritan regime imposed by a religiously-zealous Cromwell. We’ve had a succession of rulers after Charles 2nd took the Throne; some good, some not-so-good; one bats-in-belfry crazy: but the one we have right now is the true ‘Cream of the Crop’.
Elizabeth 2nd has shown both her subjects, and the wider world, what a life dedicated to ‘Service’ really means. From the age of sixteen, she could and did wear both the uniform, or workshop dungarees; not many Royals could point to chipped and dirty fingernails with pride; because she, although she travelled back to Windsor Castle every evening, worked alongside her colleagues repairing and driving trucks of all sizes, as part of her own War Service. She has given our Monarchy a sheen which is worth invisible billions to our Gross Domestic Product; and has kept the aura by keeping her mouth resolutely shut at all times.
The problem, as far as I can see it; is one of the unknown probabilities unearthed by a hereditary Monarchy. Elizabeth 2nd is beyond reproach, but when we attempt to look to the future, we see an Heir who has taken unto himself an extraordinary legacy, and proceeded to spoil himself, and his line, with a retinue of sycophants, a literal household of people who are there to perform one, and only one duty, and and that is to make the Prince of Wales secure in his own, private little world, where he can dream of vegetables, and architecture, and having things so exact that he never need be surprised by anything at all. An ‘unauthorised’ biography recently released gives details of his extraordinary life, and the way it is managed to the strangest degree: and if even we believe just a third of what is written in the Mail’s review of that biography, we have; about to take up the Throne, Crown and Sceptre, a cast-iron, chromium-plated spoiled brat.
We have to accept that, upon that sad day when our Queen finally lays the burden down, and is pronounced dead, we will be seeing a man: who has proven to be a serial adulterer, a liar, a greenhouse-gas fanatic, a man who talks to his vegetables; and all the other weirdie bits of information; ascend to the Throne of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Can he be trusted? That is the big question. Will we see a sombre; ‘The Queen is Dead: Long Live the King? Or will we see a man who has been waiting impatiently for far too long to sit and be addressed as ‘Your Majesty’? Will we see a man who, by all accounts, treated his late wife like a stud-mare, acceptable only because she was a virgin, and having provided the ‘Heir and the Spare’ was tossed aside in favour of the so-called ‘love of his life’ whom he was apparently shagging even as his beautiful wife was pregnant with her second son. A Prince who was asked; on the day he became engaged to Diana; ‘Are you in Love?’ and replied “Whatever ‘in love’ means.”
We read that he employs more flunkeys than the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia, and when Prince Charlie went to a Greek monastery seeking ‘solitude’; he took forty-three pieces of luggage with him. Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase, ‘I want to be alone’.He was also so unworldly as to be astounded when walking into the dining room where his wife, Camilla, had ordered the food; laid out earlier, be protected. He didn’t know what this strange glossy thing which covered all the plates was, so his wife told him, “It is known as cling film, dearest, it protects the food from flies whilst waiting for you to make your mind up to come in and sit down.”
He showers letters and semi-instructions upon politicians of all calibres and Parties, disregarding the unwritten convention that the Royals do not interfere in the political process. He does so in the knowledge that, although the Monarch is asked to ‘Assent’ to Parliamentary Bills which have passed through both Commons and Lords; the Monarch and the Heir retain the power to ‘Refuse Consent’ to Bills which affect, directly; Crown interests. Just imagine the power which those two words gives the man whom; in the sad fullness of time: shall indeed be our King! To the best of researchers’ knowledge, in the decades’-long rule of Elizabeth the 2nd, this ‘consent’ has been withheld only three times; and one of those was to defeat the ‘Republican’ Tam Dalyell’s Bill to remove the ability to declare War from the Monarch; and lay it at the hands of Parliament.
Just imagine if Parliament ever came to its’ collective senses, and decided to repeal the ‘Climate Change Act’; the same Act which is busy reducing our ability to keep the very lights on, and keep our homes warm. Now Charlie, he of the firm belief that, unless we return our entire Industry and Power Generation Capacity to Victorian levels, all in the sacred cause of ‘Paying to change the Weather’; we are all doomed; has the ability and the Constitutional Capacity to Block the repeal of that totally ruinous Act. Just imagine, a lawful Government’s attempt to repeal a stupid Law, and ‘King Charlie-is-no-one’s-Darlin’ comes along, sniffs, dry-washes his hands: and proclaims that the Government cannot do that, because They are Wrong!