A rich old woman, born to rule, a parasite on society, an irrelevance in the 21st century, a perpetrator of the English class system, an imposer on her frail sister who she would not allow to marry the man she loved. Yeah yeah yeah, indeed.
Yet, I promised to love honour and obey her until the day she died. She was omnipresent, her photo hung everywhere. I never feared her. You don't fear a benevolent ruler. I may have thought god was above her, but only just.
Wednesday is my day off, the very day she will be in Melbourne. My conscience is torn. I believe this will be her last visit to Australia, so shall I mix it with the bused in school kiddies to catch a glimpse of her as she passes by on a tram or shall rant against her reign? You can guess. She is my Queen. I am sometimes amused at how non practising catholics can never overcome the guilt that was planted in them at a young age. Amused I might be, but I understand. The republican me has been torn asunder at the thought of seeing her.
This seems a good time to slip in something R told me a while ago about the pink bits. Back in the 1950s pink bits meant something different to what it might mean now. A teacher with a pointer was showing R's class the pink bits on a wall map of the world, the countries that were still colonies or Commonwealth. Even I remember those maps. A very young R wondered why if he and his country owned all these places around the world, then how come he went to bed hungry at night because there wasn't enough food?