Dragging the Queen

There isn’t much to do in a hotel room other than watch what’s on the television. For the most part, British television has just as much crap as American television. On Saturday, however, there was quite the farce televised live because it was Queen Elizabeth’s official birthday.

There was some event on the Queen’s Parade Ground with a band and soldiers with swords and machine guns marching around the parade ground.

“What’s this? Why is the queen being dragged around in an old carriage?” I said.

“It’s her official birthday,” Paul said.

“So, that’s the day she became queen?”

“No, that was in February.”

“So, it’s her birthday?”

“No. That happened back in April.”

“So, what the hell is this?”

“It’s her official birthday.”

I sigh.

“Look, she’s the queen. She gets to have two birthdays…and a parade.”

I sigh again and shake my head.

“You don’t have to understand it,” Paul said. “You’re riff-raff and I’m riff-raff. But you’re worse because you’re American rif-raff.”

“So, basically, it’s a lot of pomp and circumstance and they drag the queen around and then she goes to eat some lunch?” I said.

“Yeah, I guess. She’s inspecting the troops though,” Paul said.

“But she’s in a carriage.”

“She used to do it on a horse, but she’s too old now. She used to troop the colors.”

“I don’t get what ‘troop the colors’ is.”

“That’s because you’re riff-raff,” Paul said. “I don’t get it either because I’m riff-raff. We’re peasants and we should be happy we even get to watch it on TV.”

“This is really dumb.”

“I know. And it’s boring. People just sit there and watch it,” Paul said. “And they like it.”

“So, when is she going to inspect the troops?”

“She already did.”

“She was in a carriage!”

“She’s 90-odd years old.”

“How do you inspect from a carriage?”

“You look out the window.”

“What?”

“I told you, it’s not for you to understand. It’s not for you to question your superiors. You’re riff-raff and foreign riff-raff at that.”

A few minutes pass.

Here’s the flag. The TV announcer explained how cool it was that the guy dropped the flag, took a few steps, then raised it again.

“So a dude just gave another dude a flag.”

“Uh-huh. The colors have been trooped.”

“Twenty minutes of bullshit and marching so one guy could give another guy a flag?” I said.

“I’m calling the police and telling them you’re making fun of my history and culture.”

I sigh. I look out the hotel window and watch the rain come down again. It truly is grim up North.

The Queen looks like she’d rather be someplace else.

“I bet the queen hates this, too and she wishes she was someplace else eating Jaffa Cakes,” I said.

“You’re just jealous because you don’t have anything like this in your country and you don’t have a fancy uniform and a big hat,” Paul said.

“You can keep them.”

Ten minutes later, the troops pass the queen. The television announcer says Queen Elizabeth is “watching keenly” everything that is going on. I disagree.

“I’m pretty sure she just wants a Jaffa Cake.”