Published at 14:09, Friday, 08 June 2012

Well, that was fun. Long weekend – short working week. All chilled out now, with only leftover buns and a few strings of soggy bunting as reminder of good times had by all.

Or nearly all, to be more precise. No thoroughly British national shindig would be worthy of its name without the usual collection of gripes, grumbles and digs in the shins of the harmlessly happy.

Not that we mind much. Our shins are made of stern stuff. They can withstand all kinds of knocks and blows, delivered by killjoys, the mealy-mouthed, anti-monarchists, anti-party people and paramilitary tee-total vegetarians.

When happy – and while gloriously lapping up the luxury of a four-day weekend – we can allow all contraflows to wash over us. Especially when we have a cracking good boat show on the telly and a bottle of bubbles to go with.

There are some I know who have carefully and meticulously avoided the whole kit and caboodle – which can’t have been easy.

One, a teacher, banned jubilee from her house altogether – which, I had to say I thought was a curious way for an educator to approach living history. Republican or not.

She vetoed the entire event on principle; refused to acknowledge it; confiscated the TV remote and complained only when her son deftly liberated the control gizmo while her attention was elsewhere and sneakily switched channels to watch the service from St Paul’s. She was livid. He, I reckon will go far – if not as a diplomat then as a double agent.

We, the unconcerned and happy muckers-in, were understanding, though. It’s so thoroughly British to swim against the tide in times of national celebration... in times of national anything, actually.

As any professional critic will know, it’s so much easier to sound clever and intelligently principled if you hate something – even when you don’t really. Not so simple to articulate inexplicable pleasure.

“I just like it. I’m having a lovely time!”

Temptation is to apologise. Not exactly Sunday Times Culture mag, is it?

But I was loving it. No apologies. The bunting in Brampton; lashing rain on the Thames; those bedraggled, drowned-rat singers; reclaimed Union Flag hanging from The Howard Arms; complaints about lack of bunting in Carlisle; pomp, pageantry and an 86-year-old Queen who refused to sit down on her Royal Barge throne. She preferred to stay on her feet for four hours or more. In heels! Respect.

And the poor old BBC. Lambasted by all and sundry for its coverage of every moving jubilee moment – and some not so moving, if you count Cliff Richard and Lenny Henry.

Inclusive and unstuffy, the Beeb defended, remembering too late it’s never good to be caught on the defensive – and that referring to Her Majesty as Her Royal Highness is actually indefensible.

Populist and dumbed down, thousands complained. No sense of sombre occasion. Too much Matt Baker, not enough Dimbleby. Celebrity gone mad.

Too many “Iconic Canaletto moments” and presenters interviewing each other, I reckoned. But hey, what would a chapter of our living history be without a BBC narrative... gaffes, a dancing Fearne Cotton and all?

Pages elsewhere in this paper show I haven’t been alone in enjoying a jubileetastic time. Big smiles, bigger butties, flags to spare – pictures of a stirring time to remember.

A time when – one way or another – local and national history was made in friendship. A time to recount in much later life, when who knows how different things might be, that we were once unafraid to show pleasure and dissent with equal freedom.

By then complaining may well be impossible, as it is now in so many republics.

And for those of us fortunate enough to have liberated the remote, a time to recall that we were once invited to a party that stretched from our own street to the capital, from our living room to the Thames, from our own back garden to Buckingham Palace’s front drive. Not so shabby for a long weekend. Even if we chose not to accept.

Next up? Olympics – and another good reason to be thankful grumbles and gripes are still permitted in this country.

I have plenty. But more of those another time.

Published by http://www.cumberlandnews.co.uk