Pinch us, we’re dreaming. Or did it all really happen? Those crazy, unforgettable four days when corgis flew, a bear had tea at Buck House, and a team of snow-white horses pulled a fairy-tale golden carriage through the mall?
Cheers for Elizabeth II strong enough to wake up her Tudor ancestor from Westminster Abbey. Boos for our pantomime baddie PM. And unexpected tight throat moments where human tenderness reduced the pomp and circumstance to so much background noise.
Lambeth Walkers on The Mall. Daleks. Celebrities so random that the Platinum Pageant looked like a cheesy dream; in which other universe would Angela Rippon be on the same poster as Kate Moss, Sir Mo Farah and the Wombles?
An Indian marriage, a 12-year-old girl with the drumming skills of Keith Moon, RuPaul’s Drag Racers? Why, of course. Great. Bonkers. British.
The festivities officially began on Thursday. Unofficially, they started much earlier in the week when the first reveal tents appeared on The Mall. We don’t have a written constitution, but if we did, it would surely indicate that no royal event can take place without a phalanx of superfans decked out in red, white and blue for the rest of us to enjoy. we feel less embarrassed. about frantically waving Union flags once a decade.