We will all have our particular highlights and (very rare) lowlights of a truly spectacular long weekend. Such a relief, isn’t it, to be allowed to love our country? Royal occasions rise above the daily fretfulness, allowing us to access something splendid. This is how the national memory is laid down. Who knows, perhaps the girls will see the coronation of King George VII. Our oldest attendee was 83, the youngest were sisters, six and four. We agreed that the Royal family had played an absolute blinder. We toasted the King with glasses of English Rosé, Prosecco and elderflower, we feasted on Himself’s seven-hour “Abdication Chicken”, we waved flags, we drank in the smell of freshly-picked white lilac, heady in a jug on the table. Even if the dratted rain had kept up, there was more than enough warmth to go around. Like millions of families and neighbours up and down the land, we were able to hold our Coronation Big Lunch outside. Finally, at lunchtime on Sunday, the sun came out on cue.
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