For some reason, every time I put the telly on there is something about royalty. I’ve never taken much notice of them but, over the years, I’ve briefly been in contact with a member of the family twice.
The first was in the silver jubilee. Me and my mate tried to sign on the dole. The staff told us that the queen was about to drive by on her way into St.Helens. If we could be so kind, they would process our claims quickly after they had seen. Fair enough. We dawdled our way to the top of the road and stood together on a roundabout. Everyone else was behind a barrier on the other side. Soon enough, a Rolls Royce swept over the brow and into view, the queen resplendent in the back seat waving her trademark wave, her husband by her side. She was paying close attention to the rapt crowd but suddenly glanced our way. I made eye contact. She was quizzical and not waving, then, she was gone. It was the quickest and easiest signing on experience I’ve ever had.
The second time, I arrived at the Children’s Hospital in Birmingham to pick up my girlfriend, sometime in the early eighties. Security turned me away, instructing me to wait. There was a small queue of noticeably well-dressed people. I tacked myself onto the end. A crowd started to gather some yards away. Time passed. It was a hot day. I began to sweat. Unannounced, a limousine drew up. Out stepped princess Anne. A dignitary ushered her to the line I was standing in and I was the first to be introduced. Of course, the poor man had no idea who I was, so I introduced myself. Anne offered a gloved hand with a “pleased to meet you.” It didn’t take her too long to work her way through the queue and into the building and I could finish my errand.
That’s it. All very mundane but my bet is that Afterworders have had more memorable royal encounters than mine.
We were at the 2019 Ballater Highland Games when a dark car arrived on the other side of the arena. Chaz got out and spent quite a while inspecting the Highland Dancing, drum and pipe bands, and came over to within spitting distance of me to present the winner of the tossing the caber with his medal. He seemed to really enjoy it all, but then I suppose he was on his holibobs. And then, like Mr Benn, he was gone as suddenly as he arrived.
Years previously, I’d been forced to to stand on the other side of the shop by a large security guard so that Anne could come in to buy her Racing Post, a packet of fags and a bottle of gin. And she parked her Landy on the pavement outside. She didn’t look very happy about it all.
When you say “spitting distance”…
There were two very large dark-suited heavies between him and us surfs. Ballater is the closest village with a shop to Balmoral and you quite often see a fleet of Landys gunning down the main street. The 51st infantry (royal protection squad) stay at the small barracks in the village, which is opposite our friend’s hoose.
I will be hibernating in a recording studio this weekend.
I could not think what Chaz could of won all those medals for. Highland games didn’t occur to me.
I have heard that a huge proportion of the British public, a third or something like that, had laid eyes on the late Queen, and that she wore a bright coats and hats so as many people as possible could make her out from the backs of crowds.
I never did, but I did see Charles once. We were given the afternoon off school because he and Diana were unveiling a plaque to the victims of the Gresford mining disaster. Their car swept past us to a lukewarm reaction from a group of people who had gone to the trouble to gather there. The lack of enthusiasm might be explained by Diana being on the other side of the car, or, as a schoolmate standing next to me helpfully clarified, ‘We’ve got fucking Big Ears on this side.’
Those cars move surprisingly quickly and very quietly. Blink and you miss them.
I used to work for one of Chuck’s charities, Business In The Community, and attended their first Annual Conference when himself honoured us with his presence. After a rigorous training programme prior to the event, I had the great privilege of being a Door Attendant (by Royal Appointment), and duly held said Door open as he and the charity bigwigs swept through. I also almost brushed shoulders with him as he mingled with the teams of workers attending…but managed to push him out of the way whilst saying “Watch where you’re going, big ears”. *
I used to receive a signed Christmas card, a print of one of his paintings, from Charles every year for the duration of my employment with BITC.
*This may not be entirely true.
I hope you kept the cards. 👌
The queen visited the Walker art gallery in Liverpool one day in around 2002. I wandered over on my lunch just in time to see her and Phil drive off to applause from the crowd.
Can any of your readers beat that for dullness?
I’m very happy to say I’ve never encountered a member of the Saxe-Coburg-Gotha family. Why? Because I would probably have been locked up at their pleasure.
They haven’t been Saxe-Coburg-Gotha for over 100 years. Why is this still a thing?
I was on my bike and I had started crossing Park Lane, exiting Hyde Park, at the Marble Arch end. I crossed there northbound lanes and as I headed across the central refuge, with a green light showing that was supposed to indicate my right of way, a bleedin’ police motorbike shot into the space and blocked my path.
Seconds later a limo carrying the Queen & her husband sped through.
The lights changed and I had to wait a couple of minutes more before I could continue on.
What a bloody liberty!
Obviously, normal rules don’t apply to them.
Back in the very early ’90s, on my way back home from working south of the river in London, I’d just reached the front of the traffic queue coming up to Vauxhall Cross from The Oval when about half a dozen police motorcycles with flashing blue lights appeared, stopped all traffic around the junction and cleared a route through for a convoy of 3 or 4 shiny tinted-window limos from Kennington Lane direction to sweep past. No idea who was in them due to the windows being so dark. Seconds later the limos and police bikes were all gone and normal traffic had resumed.
Similar experience in Lancaster Gate in the late 1980s. Was bawled out by a motorcycle cop for trying to cross the road at a Pelican crossing (on a green light) shortly before Princess Diana’s Limo sailed through. Who does she think she is?
Her Maj once appeared in a TV commercial I wrote and directed for Mercedes-Benz in Hong Kong
Oh wait now. You can’t just leave that there, let’s see it.
I think he’s referring to Nicki Minaj
I’ll dig it out and post it later (will need to cut out of my showreel)
Queenie on The Mall, heading back from a Trooping of the Colour I think so all done up in her Queenyness in the golden caravan. I didn’t know it was on. I was shepherding a group of language students, and dimly remembering the story about someone shouting “Neil!” when Kinnock walked by, I told the kids they had to avert their eyes. Ha ha.
The sainted Diana, in Canterbury, mid ’80s. Probably the most famous person in the world at the time.
Sorry. What did you do with Diana?
Second base, over the bra, no tongues
Edward came to open a building at the school I was working I at the time. We took his photo and on his departure presented him with a copy of the school newspaper ready prepared in which we added the photo of his arrival onto the front page.
I saw the queen once, and a friend waved his frying pan at the Queen after he emerged from his tent in Scotland.
I do hope that’s a euphemism.
My drummer pal is an Art teacher during his day job, and so was given the task of Official Photographer when William & Kate came to visit the school where he works. Shortly afterwards, she annouced she was pregnant. These two events are not connected.
He said she was very nice.
Saw Charles when I was 7 on his 1969 investiture tour of Wales, also clapped eyes on him at a cricket match once. Never met any royalty
These are the kinds of close encounters that really count. Respect.
Not me but my partner was working in Stockwell as an au pair. She found herself in Harrods lingerie department with her friend, also a Swedish au pair. It was 1991 or 1992. I was in Newcastle buying life changing records. They were alone there among the knickers and briefs. I know how this sounds but what happened was that one said to the other, who’s that there? Isn’t it? Well it was only Diana, Princess, legend with her boys in their school uniforms. She was only about a metre away from them. They noted how tall she was.
Another time she stayed in Arundel Castle for a week with the mother of the child she took care of. The son of the Duke of Norfolk provided hospitality. The duke who, though not royal, traditionally had the role of organising the coronation. So quite involved.
Me, I once saw a fuschia blob in a sea of drab. Oh, the majesty, the glory, the pomp, the circumstance. Thanks for the queening.
My takeaway from this is that Diana took her boys lingerie shopping. 😲
I’m just wondering what your misreading of my account says about you. 🤔
My takeaway is the queening…
Mmm. Queenies are delicious.
January 2018 and I’m on the platform at Coventry train station, walking in circles, trying to get warm, making my way back from the hospital. I was in a foul mood – the appointment had been a waste of time, the taxi taking me to the hospital from the station had broken down and I had to walk the last mile. It was cold and the train was 20 mins late and counting.
A train pulls in and a whole bunch of people fall out. They walk en-masse down the platform and there’s a very determined looking bloke in a bad suit with a crew cut and no neck leading what is now a phalanx directly at me. He’s giving me the thousand yard stare and I decide I can take him, and will stand my ground. In the middle of the phalanx is a bald bloke and a good looking woman in a radiant pink coat. It’s the only splash of colour among them.
As he gets to with a few feet of me I reconsider. He’s not slowing down, and besides he’s mob handed. I inch sideways and settle for “well, good afternoon” delivered with withering sarcasm as they pass. That will show them. From the middle of the group, the young bald chap replies with a cheery “Good afternoon!” and I’m struck by how good looking his female companion is, a ringer for Kate Middleton.
They head up the stairs to get to the exit opposite and I notice all and sundry taking photos. By the time they are at the middle of the bridge the penny has dropped and I whip out my phone, expertly taking a dozen shots of the sky, my feet, my knees, the back of a bloke in a high viz jackets head, and absolutely none of Will and Kate. I look online later and discover they were visiting the hospital I’d been to earlier.
I wonder if he had the same condition as you.
One day about 8 or 9 years ago, I was walking up Sibyllegatan towards Östermalmstorg in central Stockholm, and who should be coming down the street towards me but Prince Carl Philip, plus his bodyguard. Exciting, eh?
S’Alright. But it hardly tops being within sniffing range of a Soderberg sister now, does it?
I saw the Queen in the back of a car as she drove through Caister-on-Sea in 1977 during the Silver Jubilee celebrations.
She was on her way to get chips from Great Yarmouth market I guess…best chips in the world!
Was it black? Did the back seat have extra windows a bit like the pope mobile but for seated people?
It was a stretched saloon car IIRC.
No remembrance of the colour.
Ah. I imagined she travelled the country in the same vehicle that year.
@uncle-wheaty
I think she was probably on her way to Norwich looking forward to a display by myself and loads of other lucky children from local schools. I hoped she admired my burpees.
Prince Andrew visited my work once. The main parts of the site were re-painted and a landscape gardener brought in to make the place look less like a factory and more like a modern business park.
I saw him briefly through a window walking from the Main Gate to the main building.
He stayed for about 90 minutes, opened a new building, and then returned with his entourage to the car park and disappeared.
As I recall, despite being a Royal he still had to visit reception to get a pass and have a safety briefing before being allowed to enter the site.
I know someone who sat in the royal box in the old Wembley when Saints were in the cup final. She popped to the loo and was struck by the smell of fresh paint and thought that royals probably think that’s the fragrance of all rooms and buildings. Then, suited people came in and cleared the facility. My friend was still in a cubicle. They turned on the taps so that no-one could hear the royal tinkle.
Never met the Royals personally, though I did once stay in Cumberland Lodge in Windsor Great Park with other politics students from Southampton University. That’s not the Royal Lodge, where the non-sweaty second son lived, though I have a third hand account of someone who used to work as a masseuse for him.
Well? Did he sweat?
Do you know? I forgot to ask. Apparently it wasn’t much fun and she didn’t do it for very long.
I think I caught a glimpse of Princess Anne in !972 she was dressed from top to toe in green.
Alternatively I was abducted by little green men who probed me ruthlessly and altered my memories to avoid detection.
1972 was a really good year for magic mushrooms, so I’m told.
Not only have I met a royal, I have had a conversation with one of them AND recorded it on YouTube.
Seven years ago, Harry was visiting the leisure centre where our twins had weekly swimming lessons. You can see in his eyes the empty void that only true love can fill. As I am off camera, the significance of the exchange isn’t fully apparent – but as the recounted in his book (“I’m Going Spare!”) the very next thing he did was ask his staff to ask out that chick from Suits for him and let him know when it’s done.
We all know what happened next. I am certainly not arrogant enough to take full credit for the chain of events that followed but I like to think our encounter changed his life and arguably changed the fabric of the British monarchy forever. Which is nice.
Marvellous.
Changed for the better as well. Bravo!
My friend Nick shook hands with Princess Diana, when she visited Bridgwater. I’ve shaken hands with Nick.
Soft hands. They all have beautifully manicured soft hands, the finest tailoring, the most expensive make up and the most exquisite scents. No wonder they impress.
Nonsense. If those were the only requirements, I’d be impressing the fuck out of the lot of you on a daily basis.
I rest my case.
Apparently Charles has calloused gardener’s hands from all the stints he put in at Highgrove over the years, dealing with the drainage in the lower field, no doubt.
Given how sore his swollen hands often look these days his hands on gardening days may be in the past.
Cause and effect, maybe.
“Him with the big ears?”
“Aye”
“Are we allowed to tackle him?”
“Better not. That guy on the touchline probably has a gun.”
Gordounstoun 9 Aberdeen Grammar School 3. Big Ears played in the second row, never touched the ball and walked off with nary a drop of mud on his kit. They lined up and clapped us off the field. I shook his hand and he said “Well played”.
I guess the referee avoided awarding scrum downs. Back then, the rucks were a free for all mess. He must have kept well away.
Rugby back then consisted of booting it into touch, lineout, booting it into touch, lineout. Repeat for eighty minutes.
Before the Welsh showed everybody how to play the game in the 70s 😉
I think you mean “before the IRB changed the laws because of Clive Rowlands”
Yes, all part of our cunning plan and be became Welsh coach at that time you know
I have a vague memory from primary school of us all being dragged along to the side of Sheffield Parkway to watch the cars whizz by during the 1977 jubilee celebrations. Can’t remember which one it was though.
My elder son is in the same year (different course) at St Andrew’s as Edward’s daughter, although he says he has no idea what she looks like (my aunt who is as republican as they get says it’s okay for him to get to know her as she is one of the pleasant ones and actually stopped to thank the drivers/porters/door openers.etc during the big Liz send off).
He also saw them filming the new series of The Crown in St Andrew’s – does that count ?
Of course it does. Watching actors playing living people definitely counts.
My daughter was at Newcastle Uni when Beatrice or Eugenie (can’t remember which one) was there and found herself stood next to her one night as they both applied their makeup in the Ladies of a popular student nightclub.
Did she say ‘shall we meet granny?’ and produce a rolled-up £20, as both Andy’s offspring have been rumoured to do?
1988 – Diana came to open a new fish market in our village, I was at Primary School at the time and we were all marched down the road to wave and cheer.
I remember thinking she wasn’t as pretty as she looked on the telly. Also remember being annoyed when it made the local news that evening; the camera panned along the line of us, reached the girl stood next to me then cut away, thus denying me a first TV appearance.
There’s a thread in there somewhere. Something about close encounters with an appearance on TV.
I appeared in a crowd scene aged 10 on Anglia TV in a blue coat in a Norwich City v Notts Forest game in the mid 1970s.
Never got paid though.
Aged 24, I was at the clock end at Highbury when Everton was in the process of winning the league (those were the days). You can recognise me by my beard when there was a corner. I don’t have a beard now.
The bearded or tached footballer was a common site in the 70s. Not so much now (still out there, but not in the same numbers).
Increased sponsorship by Gillette perhaps …
The irony was that in the early 70s Birmingham City had a player called Malcolm Beard, who was clean shaven
Then he went on to drum with ZZ Top.
Well, we wouldn’t recognise you then. Cuh!
I appeared as a Luddite in an episode of It’s a Knockout.
I hope you broke some stocking frames in an inflatable costume to uproarious laughter from the commentator
Luckily no. I wasn’t a contestant just part of the local arts group used to fill in some dead time.
Harry came to my adopted hometown for a wedding. I knew nothing about it and was strolling around the old town when suddenly, to my surprise, there he was. With a few other people.
There was an article about my adopted hometown in The Guardian the other day, because it has a new statue of a “curvy mermaid”. (https://www.theguardian.com/world/2023/apr/28/too-provocative-mermaid-statue-causes-stir-in-southern-italy?) The Guardian described the town as “a fishing village”. Ha! They’ve obviously never visited. It used to be a fishing village. Now it’s a small, modern city, with a McDonalds, a Lidl, a multiplex cinema etc etc.
Anyway here’s Harry when I nearly bumped into him sort of:
Monopoli, eh? Do you own a house in Mayfair or The Old Kent Road?
Neither. However, I do have a “Get Out of Jail Free” card, which comes in handy at weekends.
Question.
Why is it on so early? Suits me – I can have my 6 pm whisky before flicking over to the footy but 9 am seems inordinately early.
It’s a church ceremony, innit. You go to church early, leaving the rest of the day for the piss up.
I heard the ceremony is at 11. So all these people seated in the Church will be shuffling out for a pee before proceedings commence.
I’ve just read that Samuel Pepys at the coronation of the second Charles arrived at 4 am but left during the ceremony as “I had so great a list to pisse”
The ceremony itself starts at 11.
But the radio coverage has been on since before I woke up. I’m off to hide in a cave for the day.
@Gatz
Or “Bore at 11” as a US TV channel continuity announcer might put it
Full-on Coronation mania has broken out here – I think the twins’ school (and all other schools presumably) got some dosh for brainwashing. I’ve been trying to explain what all the uniforms mean (I have no idea) and what sconces are. The Beeb have a feed without commentary or interviews, so at least we’re spared Gyles Brandreth and that bloke off Strictly.
I came within 3’ of her Maj when she did a gig at the Eden Project. There’s a photo somewhere of her with me and the late Mrs thep grinning like loons.
Jam or cream first on the sconces?
Arf!
Turned on the telly while I brewed my coffee, just to see where we were up to.
First face I spotted was a former member of Soft Machine!
Has the world gone mad? Hippies and beatniks, cuh!
A lot of media , down here, about Nick Cave being invited and attending.
He was looking suitably cool and saturnine when he arrived at the Abbey.
I tried looking cool and saturnine once, but I couldn’t pull it off…
“The unique weirdness that is Britain”
https://www.theredhandfiles.com/why-are-you-going-to-kings-coronation/
That’s an excellent piece, that, and a very good riposte.
I have to say that Mr Cave has properly nailed it there.
I think the proprietary outrage of his “fans” is more telling.
When I lived in Clapham in the 1980s our Danish hippy housemate somehow got a job as a kitchen hand/server in the Royal Household at Buck House/Windsor. He said the Royal Family ate the same boring things every day and were colder and less talkative than the Finns.
@mutikonka
The Finns live just down the road from us and while impossible to shut up, are a perfectly lovely family.
They live in a crowded house, I take it?
My wife’s from the Isles of Scilly and we go there on holiday lots.
One time years ago, when the kids were little, they made friends with 2 other kids on the beach and were invited back for tea.
Was Prince Edward’s children. The family was staying in the Duchy house on St. Mary’s.
That fateful day, when I drove a bus directly into the gold carriage and nixed em all.
(Sorry, that was a dream/premonition)
No.1 son and partner made the papers (left).
Were they arrested by the fascist regime?
No, thankfully. I guess they couldn’t arrest 2000 people.
You must be very proud.
And relieved I didn’t have to put up bail.
Princess Ann came to open a building at my school 1986ish and we had to stand in rows to greet her ( and don’t call me posh- it was a comp; I don’t know how/ why it happened)
I was working in St. James’ Square in about 2014 and set off after work to meet someone in the pub to find St. James St blocked off by cops and seconds later her Maj and Phil swept past. No waves sadly. No waves, sadly, but she was in immaculate pale blue ensemble.