> New Jersey Transit 17.47 to Morristown, NJ <
Yes, the institution over which she presides would hardly be any more anachronistic if it starting sending telegrams again – via civil servants to a Maharaja in India… but you’ve still got to hand it to the old girl. Year after year, the Queen somehow manages to be full-time ridiculous, by accident of birth, without ever adding any ridiculousness of her own. She ought to be silly, but often she’s impressive.
She rises above the historical shame of her station. She avoids the impression of ever being bored. She always speaks “officially” but seldom ever slips… How ever does she do it? How, indeed, do her husband’s many slips never stick to her? How does she disassociate herself every time from Harry acting the arse yet again; Charles’ dithering and fiddling with his sleeves; her mother’s fondness for gin and her sister’s equine unattractiveness?
How, in short, does she always keep a cool head and ignore the hot nonsense of always being queen? I don’t know – to the Manor born, I suppose… And palaces, and castles, and estates, and a lifetime of protocols…
Anyhow. Maybe, after all, I should have gone to see her earlier today – in New York City for the first time in over 30 years, a block and a bit away from where I catch the subway home… Nah, not worth being late back for dinner for, right?