Suzanne Harrington: The queen had charm, grit and endurance - but can we just stop with the forced sorrow?
I owe my boyfriend a Twix. On account of the mass media saturation around a significant event in the UK last week - no, not the Brighton manager being poached by Chelsea, although as a Brighton supporter this was what had me reaching for the black armband - my chap and I made a pact.
When we realised that the POG - Public Outpouring of Grief - was set to run and run, its crescendo still some time off, we agreed not to refer to, mention, discuss, analyse, comment, or side-eye - we would go about our business, refraining from comment even on the mass cancellation of all football fixtures, including children’s football in the park. We would say nothing. The first person to break the pact would buy the other a Twix.
We shook hands on it. This column means that after I press send, I’m off to the sweet shop.
Since the Queen left her body, it’s been a bit out of body for the rest of us resident in the UK who do not identify as ardent monarchists. We dare not speak for fear of being beaten to death with a jellied eel. It’s full gammon overload over here, with comedians like Kevin Bridges being threatened with the Tower of London for suggesting – in Scotland – that thanks to the unfettered profiteering of energy companies, the Queen won’t be the only old woman to die this winter.
His observation has had the you-can’t–say–anything–these–days brigade screaming that he can’t say that. But we must. My teenage son and his friends have been forwarding memes the way machine-guns forwards bullets, mostly about Andrew not having to pay back the 12 million; as someone who is half Irish, half Indian my son says he can say WTF he likes. I entirely agree, but hope he doesn’t say it in a pub full of royalists. My daughter delivers a fiery impromptu kitchen speech about slavery, colonialism, empire, commonwealth, and how the wealth is anything but common. I forward her links to Jedward, marvelling at my actions as I do so. Jedward? Who’d have thought? I send her Waterford Whispers News for the lolz.
This is the bit where I am contractually obliged to say that the late queen was a stalwart individual, an icon, a stamp, a symbol of continuity in an increasingly disrupted world, and the greatest colour-blocker of the modern era. She clearly had charm, grit, and endurance – she endured creatures like Donald Trump. Her handshake with Martin McGuinness was a beautiful moment. And any family who loses a beloved member deserves compassion.
As humans to other humans, that can only be empathy.
But. But, but, but. It’s the compulsory flag-shagging foisted upon us by the British state and media. The forced sorrow, the obligatory mourning. The WhatsApp messages from primary schools telling parents how to discuss the death with their kids. The obsessive joyless pantomime of it all.
The enormous distraction from things that matter so much more. And the worry that Liz Truss will bump into David Attenborough.
