I called out of the window to my Irish boyfriend that Helena was carrying Camilla’s rod. Although, as female dignitaries filed into the abbey, some of their hats were so ornate that I felt sure they’d have to be moved in and out of their seats by servants using block and tackle.Īs the ceremony kicked off, my pal Helena Kennedy, the human rights lawyer, suddenly made an appearance. (Just as well, as accidental beheadings are not a good look on the day.)įriends were texting me from the abbey: where was Harry? Would he be given a seat with a restricted view? As in, from a cell in the Tower? I was disappointed no eccentric toff took the invitation to wear a suit as an excuse to don clanking heirloom armour. Penny Mordaunt, poised and dignified, didn’t display any upper-arm wobblage despite the weight of that huge Excalibur. Like most plebs, I watched the coronation in my PJs, while secretly fantasising that I could be the broad with the sword.
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