I don't often watch daytime TV, but today was different. Today in Westminster Abbey there was a Service of Thanksgiving for the sixty years since the Queen was crowned there. At every opportunity the BBC has been rolling out the footage of the Coronation, a cold and rainy June day with a beautiful young queen riding in her golden coach. Soldiers in scarlet, horses, it's the sort of thing we Brits do very well. Today she arrived at the Abbey in a Rolls Royce and in sunshine. Seated along the front row during the service were The Queen, Phil, Charles, Prince William, The Duchess of Cambridge (that's Kate, Mrs Prince William) and Prince Harry.
All those royal generations, it was a bit like a set of Russian dolls. There's Her Maj, and her heir, and her heir's heir, and Katherine with her bump. The latest research is that pre-birth babies are more clued up than we give them credit for. So Baby HRH is swimming about there, perhaps sucking its thumb and thinking what nice music this is. S/he must have been the only person in the abbey not impressed by the occasion, and with no idea how eagerly we look forward to his/her arrival. Take your time, YRH Baby. The minute you come into this world it'll be twenty-one gun salutes and putting your name down for a posh school. They'll be forever playing the National Anthem (Great-Granny's Theme Tune to you), but you won't have to stand up for it just yet, and by the time you've found your feet you'll have your own pony. Keep kicking, Bump!