So our majesty Lizzie II has sat atop of our throne for 60 years, for which I have been alive for less than a third of. I struggle to get excited by this event, and you certainly won't find me at a blissfully patriotic street party taking in chat with people I don't like in weather which isn't suitable. Instead you will find me in my bedroom, my living room or just about anywhere that doesn't have bunting up. My feelings towards the jubilee are pretty well summed up by David Mitchell...
The problem with national celebrations is the pressure to join in. Some people relish it – the sort who, at weddings, make it their mission to force the reluctant to dance. But some, myself included, instinctively react against it. "Don't tell me to have fun!" we want to scream. "Stop enjoying this group thing!"
Exactly my feelings, don't you guys be telling me to have fun. If I want to have fun I'll play FIFA or drink too much pepsi so that I get a little bit hyper active. I won't, however, purchase masses of bunting, bake colourful cakes and surround myself with adults who "read" The Sun. Unless they get it for Page Three, I don't mind perverts, just not isosceles.
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