Drag Queens Are More My Style

The Queen visited Salisbury on our first full day here.  This is her Diamond Jubilee Year—celebrating 60 years on the throne.  She’s been spending the last few weeks visiting various towns.  Royal-worship is a little weird here.  Wherever she goes, people know her schedule to the minute.  The receptionist at our hotel, the traffic policemen, the volunteer security officer and the guy selling over-priced, poorly-made sandwiches: all of them knew when she was due to arrive, how long her private lunch was, when she’d be entering and leaving the cathedral, and what time she was due to leave.  The event will be covered on the evening news and pictures will show up in all the dailies tomorrow.  It’s a little freaky for my tastes, but hey, if royal-watching is your thing, I get it.

After breakfast, we ambled over to the Salisbury Cathedral Close about 90 minutes before she was supposed to appear.  Crowds were forming and a few entertainments began—dancing demonstrations in period dress, falconers, war re-enactors cautiously trying to dispatch one another for the crowd….  The kids were mildly interested until their empty stomachs got the better of them.  As we left, we saw an Old English sheepdog—splendidly groomed and be-ribboned for the monarch’s visit.  When a passerby asked for a photo, my kids chimed in with their request.  As I snapped and said my “thank yous,” a group of about 40 schoolgirls came over—squealing and taking cell phone pictures.  I felt sorry for the poor woman whose progress towards the Queen was seriously hampered by her adorable, fluffy pet.

To cut to the chase, we ate a horrible lunch at a pizza place during the Queen’s visit.  Helena dropped her coat in a puddle of water that issued forth from a door marked “Ladies toilet broken, please use disabled facilities at the back of the restaurant.”  Greeeeeeeat.  So I was hand-washing her coat while Queen Elizabeth II finished her lunch, watched a swordplay demonstration, dedicated a plaque at the Cathedral and decamped.

Leaving the hotel, we met an American woman who was brimming over with glee.  She’d given a gift to the Queen and actually spoke to her!  (Note: her exclamation point, not mine.)  Evidently, she’d brought some kind of battery-powered waving hand—a practical joke gift, I suspect—to give to the reigning monarch.  She gave it to the Queen and said, “This is for when your hand gets tired from waving so much.”  I cringe to even type those words now.  Her husband proudly showed us a blurry photo of Prince Phillip he’d taken with his cell phone.  These two had come to Salisbury specifically for her visit.  I was glad they enjoyed their trip and their brush with royalty.  I was doubly glad that I had the kids with me.  Clearly, on my own, my fake reaction of surprise and excitement about their encounter with the Queen wouldn’t have been sufficient. I’m fairly horrified on behalf of all Americans that they chose to give her a gag gift.  I knew my facial expression would have given me away, so every time they paused for a reaction, I’d look down to the girls and say something like, “Wow, girls, they met a real queen!”  It worked like a dream—to my great relief.  I was able to extract myself after an appropriate amount of fictional appreciation of her photos and commentary.

So much for my brush with royalty—I guess I should stick to the occasional trip to Burger King.