You don't have to be a mind-reader or an expert at de-coding body language to come to the conclusion that the Queen has had a less-than happy time during her Jubilee. Although I'm an ardent republican (and have been ever since I was forced to read The Children of the New Forest at junior school), I was appalled at the way her and her husband were exposed to the elements during the flotilla fiasco. She was clearly cold and uncomfortable on the river, and a lot of the time looked quite distressed. It was nothing short of granny abuse, and social services should have stepped in. Given the fact that the royal couple were expected to sit through a concert of inane pap the following evening, I'm not surprised that Prince Phillip decided to throw a sickie.
It's all over now, thank God. I don't think I could have taken any more of the Establishment's collective brown-nosing, with the Archbishop of Canterbury winning the prize for the most obsequious display of fawning this side of North Korea, closely followed by the BBC's non-stop coverage of nothing much happening. However, it'll only be a matter of time before her nincompoop son ascends to the throne, which will give us all another chance to hang out the bunting and wave our flags.
God save the Queen.