It seemed impossible to ignore that piece of luxurious marketing content being rammed down our throats over the weekend, after a build-up over previous weeks. After Christianity, the British monarchy is the most successful, long term marketing program on the planet, and what a show they produced on Saturday!.
Like most, I watched bits of the coronation at a mates place, conveniently happening on a Saturday evening. Along with a large and sometimes noisy bunch of friends, piles of delicious nibblies and a mountain of spicey BBQ’d sausages, the debate over the relevance of the occasion raged. There may have also been a few lubricants. My friend and his wife were born in England but came here to escape to the good weather and to dodge the crushing burden of just being English. It was however a big relief when Charlie stepped under the big hat, indicating the excruciatingly boring but for some compulsive watching was nearing an end.
To some it may be interesting to recall that if it were not for deed polls (or the royal equivalent) Charlie Windsor would have been named Charles Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. That mouthful was the family name of his mother Elizabeth, changed to Windsor by her great grandfather King George V in 1917. That change was probably prompted by the fact that London at the time was being bombed by King Georges first cousin Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany, using the first heavy bomber capable of such a mission, the ‘Gotha’.
It seems a bit slow to change your family name from a German one to a British one after almost four years of war. Perhaps it was that Georgie did not want to upset his cousin any more than he already was.
I wonder what the Murdoch press would have made of that at the time. Ruperts father of course had been sending false reports back to George and his cronies from Gallipoli just two years earlier. Fake news reporting must run in the Murdoch family.
Families are often difficult, especially when the tree has grown in an environment insulated from any sort of genetic diversity, which perhaps explains a lot. It is however somewhat pleasing to see that apart from the inheritance of wealth and position at the tip of the artificial British social hierarchy, they are pretty normal. Broken marriages, sibling rivalry, affairs, seedy personal practises, the odd visit to barristers, grifters, and social media advisors, and the never-ending demands from people they do not know to donate money.
All good fun, and we finished the night watching ‘The Windsors’ on Netflix. If you haven’t caught up with it, hurry before it goes away. Satire to some is a documentary to others.
Vive le Republique!
