Tea with the Queen

So, uhh, I went to the Queen’s garden party last week. Obviously. She called me up and  was all like “oh James, haven’t seen you in ages darling, come over to my place”.

Haha no of course not. My Dad was given an invitation because he does clever scientific things that I may never understand. So I went along with him. And drew people.

Honestly it was one of the strangest parties I’ve ever been to. I use to word party loosely: if my now-finished four years of university taught me anything, it’s that parties involve drinking, dancing, and talking to other human beings. Buckingham palace encourages none of those things.

So we sort of milled around, everyone drank tea and ate canapes and women in ridiculous hats admired or scorned the ridiculous hats of other women.

That aside, there was also the Queen. The Queen’s garden party wouldn’t be the Queen’s garden party without the Queen. She was allegedly somewhere in a large tent in the middle of the garden, shaking hands with foreign diplomats and such. I say allegedly, because there was a five-or-six-deep crowd gathered around the cordon outside the tent, craning to look in. Were you there when those new pandas arrived in Edinburgh zoo and the whole city went to look at them? Did you see the crowds round their enclosure? That was what it was like.

Anyway, not everyone goes to stand in a queue to look at these things. This smart gentleman sat on the grass eating cake. I didn’t have too much cake, because no amount of royal cake is worth the royal queues.

Most people sort of milled around admiring the gardens and looking mildly distressed by the sun. A lot of mayors with ridiculous gold medallions round their necks (I swear those are the kind of things they win in American wrestling shows). A lot of middle-aged women who looked slightly amazed at everything there. A lot of old men who looked at the end of the day they would be packed up and put back into their boxes until next year.

I suppose its just a matter of taste.

Basically it was a day of queuing and sunburn. The kind of party that makes you proud to be British I guess.

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