What slightly spoiled the Coronation Day events was the inane “Not my King” chants from unimaginative republicans. The next day our village High Street was officially closed for Coronation street parties, to reopen at 5pm. But closing it clearly didn’t apply to beLycraed cyclists who continued cycling down the street, irritably dodging pedestrians, kids, gazebos, tables, chairs... Protesting?
Playing street games with neighbours, our last game, musical chairs, started at 4:45pm, when an irate motorist started blasting his horn continuously, demanding passage!
“Bugger off mate!” someone shouted.
Bolshy cyclists? Bolshy motorist? ‘Not My Coronation Street Closure?’
But it WAS ours!
Anointing over in the makeshift shed
Something else heading for his head.
First, Supertunica in sparkly gold
(Not a great fit, if truth be told!)
Charles the 2nd’s royal spurs
Heavy man! And getting worse!
Sceptres, orb and sword to bear
Still almost down to his underwear
Then on his shoulders a cloak of state
More stagger than swagger with all that weight
He had more gold than a Brink’s-Mat robber
And looked uncomfortable in all that clobber
Then he got King Edward’s Crown
The weight of kingship bearing down
Nonetheless him fortune bring
Alleluia: God Save the King.
The Royal anointment wouldn’t be seen
But before he headed behind a screen
Quickly constructed round Edward’s Thone
For Charles and Justin on their own
Of regal clothes they made him strip
(We feared he might be getting the whip!)
But special oil it was instead
Behind the screens to grease his head
And it wasn’t chip-oil in the Primate’s hand
It was Chrism Oil from the Holy Land
I wondered if His Majesty felt a chill
Standing there in his undies still
And this was not the hardest bit
But soon a chance to put on his kit!
Today’s the day when our proud nation
Celebrates Charlie’s Coronation
Sitting on King Edward’s chair
The Stone of Destiny under there
A big red brick, for what it’s worth
From old Scone Abbey, close to Perth
It’s worth a lot if you’re a Scot
(Pretty worthless if you’re not)
Stolen goods, some say it’s cursed
Since it was nicked by Ted the First
Some say skown, some say s’gone
But skoon’s the Scots’ pronunciation
Skown, skoon, s’gone, whichever one
I’ll celebrate with a currant bun!
When Charles the Third receives his Croon
Watch out for the brick beneath his Throon.