Thought Picnic: We are at peak mourning

Alright, here we are

The British expression of the veneration for the dead is quite fascinating to watch, for in the 8 days since the passing of Her Majesty the Queen, Elizabeth II, the pomp, pageantry, ceremony, and performance that has greeting this period of mourning before her funeral has plumbed excesses rarely seen anywhere.

If the Queen were a Roman Catholic, she would be well on her way to beatification long before she has been interred. We are suffocated with coverage that could abandon common sense for sheer mass hysteria and uncontrolled genuflection.

Indeed, there is more grief for the immediate family of the Queen, and for the nation, is the realisation that a lady who has defined a major part of our national life is no longer with us. For her service and duty, we gather to pay our respects and honour her.

What I well see

Having great influences of another culture in my upbringing, a death at 96 is not considered sorrowful, rather a celebration of first a long life and then congratulations to their survivors for outliving their parents. I find myself at confluence and conflict as both my British and Nigerian influences wrestle with the spectacle that greets me.

At one time, I did think of travelling down to London for the laying-in-state, but after reviewing the rules and the prospect of being in interminably long queues for the prospect of a fleeting moment of bowing before a laden catafalque, I advised myself of the better participation in witnessing the civil and religious royal proclamations, along with signing the book of condolence at Manchester Cathedral.

For the living to be

I never had the occasion to meet the Queen, not that it was ever an ambition or desire, except for others who might if the situation presented itself would celebrate it. If perchance, one did meet with royalty, maybe there would be some interaction and conversation that in this case is absent from the dead, except if one were to indulge in necromancy.

My counsel informs that this performative exercise in public grief is hardly a front seat row and more an acquiescence of the establishment to gauge the popularity of the institutions that undergird it, as there is an enumerator somewhere seeking to use the numbers to convey a point.

To king I vow

All this does not make me any less a monarchist, I am quite comfortable with the unimaginative consistency of a hereditary constitutional monarchy that puts the excesses of political chicanery in check as much as it can without interfering with the system, than to radically change the system to a republic. What we need is a reform of our voting system to be more representative of the electorate and the less use of patronage to pack the House of Lords full of chums, plutocrats, and influence peddlers.

The gift of television gives a wider view and where opinion is grating, I can mute the volume.  As for the new royal household, it is a work in progress and all the preparations for this event are still left to some cack-handed courtiers who by trying to maintain intrigue and mystique almost always leave the royals caught rather flatfooted. Before I put pen to paper to reveal character flaws that were once rumoured of.

Land of nope at the platinum jubilee

A buffet to party

I had deliberately avoided the Platinum Jubilee celebrations along with the patriotic fervour that seemed to describe an event that could barely be attended by the celebrant who had achieved the extraordinary feat of being on the throne for 70 years, apart from snatches of it on television.

However, I found myself invited to participate with a community that I have somewhat made my own, as my local church is the Manchester Cathedral, and we were enjoined to attend a platinum jubilee party after the Sung Eucharist where the Queen was to be toasted by the Bishop of Manchester.

The party was professionally catered, and we lined up for the buffet as we picked up cutlery, queuing around the table to choose whatever took our fancy to eat. After which, I found a place to sit before the Dean presented me with a song sheet that had Land of Hope and Glory and God Save the Queen.

Empire on the roam

My obvious lack of curiosity is probably the reason why I have not really reckoned on the words of Land of Hope and Glory; nothing could have prepared me for the utterly unapologetic imperialist import of the words of the song, and much as it is trotted out for nostalgic jingoism at any opportunity, is so totally anachronistic that any self-aware person would find themselves quite reticent to have those words leave their lips even if in state of inebriation.

Land of hope and glory, mother of the free,
How shall we extol thee, who are born of thee,
Wider still and wider, shall thy bounds be set,
God who made thee mighty, make thee mightier,
God who made thee mighty, make thee mightier yet.

That is the chorus, the words by Arthur C. Benson (1902), music by Edward Elgar (1901) and it became one of the signature songs of the armed forces sweetheart Vera Lynn during WWII.

Let’s do it again

After we sang it the first time, the old ladies already distributing Union Jacks urged us to wave them with enthusiasm and then asked for the organist to go for an encore, so, we sang it again as those caught in the delirium of this nationalistic cannabis mist, almost began to dance like whirling dervishes, we could be as possessed as we are willing to allow ourselves.

But this song belongs nowhere in the 21st Century and definitely not in the UK of today, for very few have that hope for any glory in a life that meets the threshold of basic or comfortable. To those of us somewhat well-off, the cost-of-living crisis is just a blip, alright the pot of yoghurt I used to buy at the supermarket at 80p is now 90p, one banana costs 2p extra, I can see the cost of milk, eggs, pasta, cheese, beef cutlets and many more things go up, but they are all still affordable.

Wider is the berth

My rent is going up just as my energy bills are, and I am paying more tax, but I am part of the fortunate few that would weather this storm. Many more can't make ends meet, they are using food banks that might not be well-stocked, and they are even turning off their fridges and freezers to save on electricity, the consequence of which is food poisoning recorded in some children.

As the Victorian era came to an end ushering in the Edwardian era of Edward VII, the British Empire was at its height, the sun did not set on the realms of our monarchy and probably there was this idea that the bounds of the empire should grow wider and that the empire be mightier, but today, there is little to widen or magnify, we have shrunk into an outpost on the west of Mainland Europe, hanging on to the glory of the Commonwealth of Nations that is an association over which we have little or no influence.

Diminished through and through

Britannia did once rule the waves, but we can hardly put together a navy that rivals many of our peer nations. Unfortunately, we are failing to lay a grip on our current reality for a fictional Utopia of might and influence that none living today ever experienced. Yet, it is enough a distraction from the failings of Brexit, the lack of vision or purpose of Her Majesty's Government and once these 4 days of fun are over, we would be back to where we were 5 days ago, hungry, poor, destitute, and hopefully, not too hopeless.

I did participate, but I was not as enthused, our society is too unequal for the occasional patriotic activity to solve the deep problems that afflict our nation. At the time of the empire, we could rape the colonies for the benefit of the motherland, however, none of that is available anymore.

Our sovereign lady, the Queen though well-loved is in the twilight of her reign and life, the monarchy is on the wane and no passionate flag-waving is going to lift the flaggingly desperate situation that bedevils the Britannia that once ruled the waves.

The Platinum Jubilee in perspective

A platinum jubilee to all

The Queen, Elizabeth II represents an epoch-making example of duty, service, responsibility, and fortitude as we celebrate with her the platinum jubilee of her assession to the throne. Usually, we celebrate 70 years of age, maybe even 70 years of marriage to some, but 70 years in office is a uniquely different thing that it might never be experienced in many lifetimes and generations to come.

When His Royal Highness, The Prince Philip, The Duke of Edinburgh, the Queen’s consort passed on at 99 last April, one could only celebrate his public service and more particularly, his steadfast support of his wife for 73 years. They were only in their fourth year of marriage when she took on the role of monarch, at which point their devotion to each other was supplanted to their devotion to duty.

Blog: In the life of HRH, The Duke of Edinburgh

Longevity in our humanity

At 96, The Queen exudes the frailties of our humanity that comes with old age, much as she has promised to serve, she has had to hand over many tasks and duties to members of the royal family to represent her. This morning, she could not attend the national service in commemoration of her reign at St. Paul’s Cathedral, she was represented instead by the heir apparent, Charles, Prince of Wales accompanied by his spouse, Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall.

I appreciate monarchism especially in the United Kingdom as it gives us a kind of leadership that is essentially above the political fray, she has appointed 14 Prime Ministers during her reign, and whilst there could have been cases for republicanism that gives the leadership of a nation to popularly elected person, the kind of person that gets elected might not imbue the standards and qualities of leadership necessary for the role.

The less said of the current Prime Minister on principles, integrity, service, or responsibility, the better for all, and probably that alone represents why we need a monarchy. My only concern is that the monarchy is appearing to be political neutral might well be politically negligent, for I still suggest that when the Her Majesty’s Government was found to have acted unlawfully and by inference had lied to the Queen on the matter of the prorogation of the Parliament in 2019, the government that could not be trusted to act with candour and honesty should have been asked to resign.

The Second Elizabethan Age

That might well be the only blemish on this amazingly distinguished and extraordinary reign of Elizabeth II. I have no arrangements to join in any revelry, there would probably be a service at the cathedral to celebrate and pray for the Queen. Even as we sing ‘long to reign over us’ as part of our national anthem, we know we are coming to the end of an era.

History would characterise this as the Second Elizabethan age that represented the second half of the twentieth century and probably the first quarter of the twenty-first century. That we are so different from the royal houses of mainland Europe is instructive as abdications are typically the norm there as has happened in, The Netherlands and Belgium in 2013, and Spain in 2014. The year of three kings of 1936 (this was the fourth occurrence of 3 kings in a year, the last being in 1553 [Wikipedia]) remains a recently sad and forgettable history for our monarchy, the pall of which hangs over this monarch as a childhood witness of that change.

I can only wish the Queen more strength, good health and the soundness of mind that allows her to continue in her role for as long as she can. My hearty congratulations to her and God save the Queen.

The UK: The politics of kissing about

Kissing hands

The bureaucracy that undergirds the government in the UK is so quite developed that it is possible for a Prime Minister to hand over power to another in a day without creating a power vacuum, we have continuity built into the system because of Her Majesty's Civil Service.

Yesterday afternoon, just two days after it was confirmed that Theresa May would be the only contestant for the leadership of the Conservative and Unionist Party, and being the party of government, consequently the Prime Minister, the First Lord of the Treasury and the Minister for the Civil Service; everything was set to commence a new dispensation of government.

David Cameron went to Buckingham Palace to tender his resignation to Her Majesty, The Queen, Elizabeth II and The Queen invited Theresa May to form a government. The prospective Prime Minister, when invited thus, is said to have been invited to kiss the hands.

Kissing up

This symbolic gesture includes pledging loyalty and fealty to the sovereign and by terms a requirement to serve in Her Majesty’s government.

The first act of the Prime Minister is to form a cabinet of ministers, the Prime Minister occupies the first Great Office of State and the other offices of The Chancellor of the Exchequer and The Second Lord of the Treasury (Finance Minister), The Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs and The Secretary of State for the Home Department are appointed by the Prime Minister, along with other members of the cabinet primarily from amongst elected and sitting members of the House of Commons.

Ministers of the Crown can also be appointed from the House of Lords and where civilians (non-members of parliament) are required to be ministers, they are ennobled by appointment to the House of Lords.

Kissing teeth

There is no nomination, vetting and confirmation process as seen in Presidential systems of government, the Prime Minister can appoint and sack ministers at their discretion. Though a gentle let-down would be to ask for the resignation of a minister, if the said minister has lost the confidence of the Prime Minister.

The cabinet posts come at the invitation of the Prime Minister and it can be the opportunity to kiss the butt when asked to serve or to kiss the dust when a promotion or a retention is denied.

Theresa May has made some interesting ministerial appointments, some that have had us kissing the teeth with Boris Johnson becoming the Foreign Secretary, how incredulous. Yet, we could be kissing the lips with Philip Hammond replacing George Osborne as the Chancellor of the Exchequer.

Kissing dust

Michael Gove has been made to kiss the dust having kissed away opportunity by the way he betrayed Boris Johnson in running for the leadership of the Tory Party, though it goes without saying that Boris Johnson has a way of kissing up and falling upwards when others in the kinds of holes he has dug himself into would have no political mileage left in their careers.

Earlier in the day, we thought we had kissed goodbye the smug Jeremy Hunt as Secretary of State for Health, it was a false rumour, he retains the power to deliver the kiss of death to the NHS.

Kissing babies

Whilst we watch how Theresa May charts the course of her leadership, it is unlikely one is eager to kiss the ring with these personalities swanning around Whitehall. There’ll be a lot of kissing going on before the politicians begin to kiss the babies again in 2020.

The philistines pillaging discretion

The denuding of Shimon

I was saddened as I queued up to board my flight to Stockholm this morning when CNN flashed the news of Shimon Peres the President of Israel dozing off during an interview.

It showed the depths to which we have sunk to in the quest for sensation rather than decent news that people felt showing the Grand Old Man of Israel in such a state of human frailty was worthy of publicity.

Pandering to indignity has become the ratings, interviewing the President and hearing what he had to say before he nodded off or what he would have said when he came to was not more significant, they had a better news story, an opportunity to laugh at an old man – the man is 84 for crying out loud.

Boring people and meetings

I have attended meetings where I have dozed off and sometimes maybe snored and I cannot count how many times those meetings have bored me stiffer than an Egyptian mummy – surely, a man of Shimon Peres’ stature should have been treated with a greater modicum of respect, honour and discretion.

That interviewer should have a career that has reached a dead-end from today, she can interview frogs for all I care, and maybe a croak or two might convey something worthy of contemplation.

They know no discretion

Discretion is a rare virtue nowadays and that was depicted in the CBS’ 60-minutes interview of President Sarkozy of France – he is the president and when a president attends an interview, I doubt if what he wants to talk about is his pending divorce.

The interviewer could not resist the urge to be pointedly indiscreet after he said; he would not use that forum to talk about his wife. When she went on to say that people want to know what was going on, I could only commend the President for terminating the interview, there and then – if the people who want to see the interview are the “Hello”, National Enquirer or trashy tabloid crowd looking for salacious gossip, he had better things to do – and rightly so – Nicolas.

Nosing around my piss

So the star of Formula 1 who was so mismanaged by his team that they lost both the constructor and driver championships wants to leave the UK for Switzerland where he can go for a pee and not have people waiting at the door for urinary autographs – the insatiable appetite of the press for stories that make elevate gossip to sewer news can really drive people to distraction and drive them away from home.

The Diana inquest shows that lessons have not been learnt that feeding idle minds with celebrity tripe does nothing to improve society rather, the self-same golden goose might be killed – unfortunately, the chase is for the moment - forget posterity.

The royal prerogative

One could commiserate with John Simpson when he could not get King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia to talk about Iraq or Iran; well people have every right to feel so strongly about a situation that they would keep their counsel, just in case their utterances complicate situations – but the revelation that Saudis provided no matter how trivial the information about the London bombing and felt it was dismissed by the British is a grievance enough to air.

The candour of the king was evident when he said to John Simpson that he did not want to be evasive or dishonest.

My final bouquet goes to the unnamed (now named in Australia) “minor” royal who the Queen is quite fond of who has refused to be blackmailed but called on resources that allowed the dirty blackmailers to be nabbed and charged.

Submitting to the first blackmail attempt is a slippery slope that has you beholding to circumstances that would always be out of your control; come clean quick and you will never be cleaned out.

And I am telling you

The Queen

The weekend was eventful enough; I went out to see another film, the second in as many weeks. I enjoyed watching The Queen; being a monarchist, Ilyena Vasilievna Mironov (Dame Helen Mirren) made an excellent portrayal Elizabeth Regina II though I was not sure if it was really deserving of the accolades considering other performances like that of Dame Judi Dench.

Cherie Blair no doubt was seriously caricatured, her curtsies looking like she was about to break a leg, well, someone had to look silly in the film and only Helen Mirren really looked the part. Three hearty cheers for The Queen.

Dreamgirls

So, yesterday, even though I have not been that much of an Eddie Murphy fan, I had to see Dreamgirls and it was only showing at one cinema in the centre of Amsterdam.

We chose the 17:45 slot which happened to be a time when bubblegum chewing girls with voices louder than a freight train were free to roam the streets, Never Again! Said I.

As luck would have it, every automatic thing in the cinema had broken down, the ticket machine, the tiller machines, the cash registers at the tills and the pop-corn stands everything was lines and crosses on paper - what an evening, but it turned out right.

Jennifer Hudson as Effie White was a star and her rendition of And I am telling you I'm not going was a class act that brought the house down. Strangely, I first heard this song performed as a mime by a drag queen in London called the Skinny Bitch some 15 or so years ago, it was quite a spectacle, but the energy in the song was all-empowering, you could not but be moved.

Deserving accolades

In fact, being nominated for 24 awards on your debut as a film star and winning 16 including the Golden Globe, BAFTA and Oscar is testament to the fact that some of these so-called musical talent shows have no eye for pure and raw talent. Or rather like Curtis Taylor, Jr. played by Jamie Foxx said of the other star in the show, her voice had too much of a personality such that it could not be moulded into commercial success rather than a showcase of talent with genius and sonorous quality.

One other thing about Jennifer Hudson that should not be missed is her gratitude to her fans, the people who stayed true to her abilities as it all blossomed into what everyone now wants a part of.

Pause for deep thought

In her words quoted from the IMDB record of her quotes, I read this.

"In a recent interview, I was asked how I reconciled being a Christian with performing at events for my gay fans. I find it upsetting that some folks equate being a Christian with being intolerant of gay people. That may, unfortunately, be true for some, but it is not true for me.

I have talked often of my love and support of the gay community. I have said again and again that it was the gay community that supported me long before and long after American Idol, and kept me working and motivated. It is the gay community that celebrated my voice and my size and my personality long before Dreamgirls.

Yes, I was raised Baptist. Yes, I was taught that the Bible has certain views on homosexuality. The Bible also teaches us not to judge. It teaches us to love one another as God loves us all. I love my sister, my two best friends and my director dearly. They happen to be gay. So what? While some search for controversy, I hope that my friends and fans who know me, know where I stand."

There are probably a few big sermons, a call to humility and a moving message in there.

However, moving on, Dreamgirls was based on a Broadway show of the same name that first ran in the year Ms. Hudson was born and this was loosely based on the story of the Supremes, the rivalry of Florence Ballard with Diana Ross and the influence of Berry Gordy in the whole matter.

Birthday wishes

Somehow, I find that my outrageously handsome babyface kid-brother shares his birthday today with Diana Ross who is 63 and believe it or not, The Rt. Hon William Hague who clocks 46, once the leader of the Tory Party. I wish them all, many happy returns.