Among the many silly splendours in the state opening of parliament, one detail conveys the weirdness of British democracy more precisely than the rest. It isn’t the gilded carriage that brings the sovereign to the Palace of Westminster or the separate coach for the crown. It isn’t the pantomime of Black Rod knocking for admittance to the Commons, nor is it the goatskin parchment on which the legislative agenda is printed.
None of the pomp and frippery on display on Tuesday offends political modernity quite as much as the words “my government will …” This is the formula King Charles uses, as a matter of convention, when announcing forthcoming actions of what is, as a matter of constitutional fact, his government. This doesn’t mean that the king has asked for a ban on cigarette sales or tougher prison sentences for recidivist burglars, or extra licences for North Sea gas extraction. (If his well-known environmentalist credentials are bona fide, he is surely appalled by the dash for hydrocarbons.)
