Royalty and purgatory have no place in 2013

EVERY baby is born the same — squalling, bloody, scrunched up, a few fragile pounds of infinite need and life-changing feelings for the boggle-eyed new parents.

Only a curmudgeon would be snarky about new parents gooing over their newborn — no matter who they are, everyone has the right to get gooey, misty-eyed, overwhelmed at the enormity of the tiny thing in front of them. Yay for all new babies, all new mummies, all new dads. Yay for all of them.

But although they are born the same, babies are not born equal — at least, not in monarchies. In Britain, one of the 2,000 or so babies born on July 22 will one day be a king. The other 1,999 won’t. Not that they would want to, I imagine — it sounds like a right headache, despite having someone (paid for by taxing the peasants) to squeeze your toothpaste every night, or stir your muesli in the morning — but the idea that one random baby out of a couple of thousand is born special and different from the others is frankly medieval. You know, like papal indulgences.