Why do we have to endure the two minute silence twice? I have no problem with respecting it once. It's right and proper, and appropriate and necessary, to remember our wartime dead once a year. But twice, and on two consecutive days, that's just wrong.
The first two minute silence was held at 11am on November 11th 1919, one year to the minute after the signing of the Armistice which ended World War One. King George V proclaimed to the nation that "all locomotion should cease, so that, in perfect stillness, the thoughts of everyone may be concentrated on reverent remembrance of the glorious dead." And Britons duly paused, and united, and reflected, on the atrocities that had killed so many millions of people so very recently. The following year the two minute silence was observed again, at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, now with its epicentre at the newly constructed Cenotaph in Whitehall. Traffic stopped, factory production was suspended and the nation remembered. And so it was on every subsequent November 11th until 1945, after which things changed.
In 1946 the UK's official two minute silence switched to RemembranceSunday - the second Sunday in November. The national hiatus was better suited to the traditional day of rest, so it was thought, even if this coincided with the proper Armistice anniversary in only one year out of seven. But some people continued to commemorate on the 'proper' day, because it seemed wrong to forget. A campaign grew to reinstate the two minute silence on November 11th, whipped up by the British Legion and some of our more 'loyal' tabloids. And so for the last ten years there have been two nationally-observed two minute silences, one on the 11th and another on the Sunday closest to it. Because nobody can quite decide which day is more appropriate, and because it would be politically incorrect to ditch either one of them. What a mess.
Two minutes of silence on a Sunday feels very different to two minutes of silence on any other day of the week. If you're at home, and you probably are, then the 11 o'clock silence is a very easy occasion to miss. It's even possible to sleep through the whole thing after a heavy night out, or to be otherwise occupied in the bedroom at the appropriate moment. You'll notice the silence if you're inside a church, or on a village green, or if you've tuned in for John Craven's Country File only to find it's been cancelled this week. But elsewhere no car boot sale pauses, no queue at IKEA halts, no rail replacement bus service grinds to a halt and no frozen food aisle falls silent. Sunday ought to be the best day of the week for commemoration because the day is already fairly laid back. On a Sunday the service at the Cenotaph always has the appropriate gravitas, at the heart of a silent city, at the heart of the nation. But if it's not the 11th, as this year, then it's the wrong day.
Two minutes of silence on a weekday feels very different to two minutes of silence on a Sunday. You're probably at work for a start, or out travelling, or doing something relatively sociable. A two minute intermission is going to interrupt your day, intrude into your routine and generally make itself noticed. Which is how it should be - a positive act of remembrance and not a passive weekend interlude. But I truly dislike the shared communal silence enforced upon Britons in the workplace on November 11th. Phones continue to ring, email continues to arrive and office juniors continue to gossip by the drinks machine. There's nowhere to stare, nowhere to focus, and an uneasy atmosphere as people attempt to look reverent whereas in fact they're thinking about what to have for lunch. Plus nobody ever sets their watch accurately beforehand so nobody knows precisely when the two minutes begins. Mike in Finance might check his premature mobile and start his silence 90 seconds early, while Val from Accounts is trying to judge when the minute hand on her designer watch passes a point which isn't marked and so ends up starting after she should have finished. Workplace silences are always an embarrassing uncoordinated mess, never ever respectful enough.
And this year we get two minutes of silence on a Saturday. It's the worst of both worlds. Everybody's busy, everybody's rushing around, everybody's self-absorbed, and nobody notices. So this year the British Legion have made an extra effort and organised a special 'event' in Trafalgar Square. Its official title is "Silence in the Square", and it's being 'hosted' by GMTV's Ben Sheppard. There'll be a proper bugler, and lots of poppies dropped into the fountains, and a flypast at 11:02 by four thundering Typhoons. No thought whatsoever for anybody living beneath the flypath who'll have their two minute silence drowned out prematurely by the heavy drone of a passing bomber squadron, but never mind them. And after the flypast, so the Legion inform us, there'll also be "a live performance by Christmas number 1 hopefuls, the all–girl Classical group, All Angels" (who just happen to be releasing a new album on Monday). There's a fine line between making Remembrance relevant and blatant commercialisation, and I fear the Legion have just crossed it.
What the hell has happened to our Remembrance Day? Why are we diluting its effect by commemorating it twice? Can somebody official please decide whether our two minute silence should be held on the Sunday or on the 11th? And then stick to it, either one or the other, but not both. There's no need for an instant decision because next year the two dates coincide perfectly and we'll only have to remember once. But for 2008 and beyond, can we please make up our minds which day we want? Two minutes a year is right and proper, but two minutes twice is just disrespectful.
The first two minute silence was held at 11am on November 11th 1919, one year to the minute after the signing of the Armistice which ended World War One. King George V proclaimed to the nation that "all locomotion should cease, so that, in perfect stillness, the thoughts of everyone may be concentrated on reverent remembrance of the glorious dead." And Britons duly paused, and united, and reflected, on the atrocities that had killed so many millions of people so very recently. The following year the two minute silence was observed again, at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, now with its epicentre at the newly constructed Cenotaph in Whitehall. Traffic stopped, factory production was suspended and the nation remembered. And so it was on every subsequent November 11th until 1945, after which things changed.
Two minutes of silence on a Sunday feels very different to two minutes of silence on any other day of the week. If you're at home, and you probably are, then the 11 o'clock silence is a very easy occasion to miss. It's even possible to sleep through the whole thing after a heavy night out, or to be otherwise occupied in the bedroom at the appropriate moment. You'll notice the silence if you're inside a church, or on a village green, or if you've tuned in for John Craven's Country File only to find it's been cancelled this week. But elsewhere no car boot sale pauses, no queue at IKEA halts, no rail replacement bus service grinds to a halt and no frozen food aisle falls silent. Sunday ought to be the best day of the week for commemoration because the day is already fairly laid back. On a Sunday the service at the Cenotaph always has the appropriate gravitas, at the heart of a silent city, at the heart of the nation. But if it's not the 11th, as this year, then it's the wrong day.
And this year we get two minutes of silence on a Saturday. It's the worst of both worlds. Everybody's busy, everybody's rushing around, everybody's self-absorbed, and nobody notices. So this year the British Legion have made an extra effort and organised a special 'event' in Trafalgar Square. Its official title is "Silence in the Square", and it's being 'hosted' by GMTV's Ben Sheppard. There'll be a proper bugler, and lots of poppies dropped into the fountains, and a flypast at 11:02 by four thundering Typhoons. No thought whatsoever for anybody living beneath the flypath who'll have their two minute silence drowned out prematurely by the heavy drone of a passing bomber squadron, but never mind them. And after the flypast, so the Legion inform us, there'll also be "a live performance by Christmas number 1 hopefuls, the all–girl Classical group, All Angels" (who just happen to be releasing a new album on Monday). There's a fine line between making Remembrance relevant and blatant commercialisation, and I fear the Legion have just crossed it.
The first 
Two minutes of silence on a Sunday feels very different to two minutes of silence on any other day of the week. If you're at home, and you probably are, then the 11 o'clock silence is a very easy occasion to miss. It's even possible to sleep through the whole thing after a heavy night out, or to be otherwise occupied in the bedroom at the appropriate moment. You'll notice the silence if you're inside a church, or on a village green, or if you've tuned in for John Craven's Country File only to find it's been cancelled this week. But elsewhere no car boot sale pauses, no queue at IKEA halts, no rail replacement bus service grinds to a halt and no frozen food aisle falls silent. Sunday ought to be the best day of the week for commemoration because the day is already fairly laid back. On a Sunday the service at the 
