I tried to watch it. I really did.
I thought I would give the Coronation a go, mostly out of curiosity. A bit of anthropology. I wanted to see what the fuss was about.
I lasted three minutes.
It wasn’t just the opulence, though the sight of gold carriages in a cost-of-living crisis is hard to stomach. It was the sheer exclusion of it all. The religious oath, the “divine right,” the idea that some people are born better than others. It felt like a door slamming shut on anyone who doesn’t fit a very specific, very old mould.
Being an Englishman in Scotland on a day like this is a strange experience.
I am English by birth, but my home is here in Scotland. I support Scottish independence not because I hate where I come from, but because I believe decisions should be made by the people who live here.
Watching the ceremony, the gap between the screen and the street outside felt massive. London felt a million miles away. The pomp and circumstance didn’t feel like “tradition” to me; it felt like a reminder of a hierarchy that we are supposed to just accept.
I don’t accept it. I don’t believe in subjects. I believe in citizens.
So, I switched the TV off. I didn’t get angry. I just opted out.
Instead, I went for a curry.
Sitting there with a tikka masala, surrounded by the noise of a busy Saturday night in a multicultural town, felt a lot more like the modern world than anything happening in Westminster Abbey.
And it tasted a lot better, too.
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