In the week before Harry and Meghan’s wedding I watched a woman in the Kensington Palace shop buy a mug that featured the entwined initials of the couple and retailed at £39. “I love how down to earth they are,” she said. I wonder where that mug is now (the cup, not the woman). There will always be new mugs, of course, and the Royal Collection is currently selling a coronation tankard for £50, as well as such essentials as a £40 bone-china coronation pillbox finished in 22-carat gold, possibly in keeping with King Charles’s oft-stated mission to modernise the monarchy. If you are one of the lucky Brits selected by lottery to receive a GP appointment before the big day, do consider purchasing it and popping your medication in it.
In the meantime you have to ask: how confidence-inspiring, really, is any event that has thus far been defined by about 4,000 articles (and counting) about the attendance or non-attendance of a couple of guests? Nothing says “we’re bigger than that and have moved on” like obsessing over the social plans of two California residents. This event is so inspiring and generational and monumental that the sole thing people can get truly worked up about is how their worst person in the world isn’t coming to it. Surely the one interesting thing about King Charles isn’t his fractured relationship with his younger son? And yet, the tale of the column inches seems to suggest it might be. For a couple we keep hearing are no longer important, the Sussexes do still seem to be the only subject in town.
