I dropped by the Mall before the Platinum Jubilee Pageant.
I wasn't sure I'd get in. I'd seen the protective ring around the area earlier in the week and I knew Buckingham Palace was pretty much sealed off. The security presence in Trafalgar Square was also phenomenal, with fluorescent-jacketed hirelings easily outnumbering the morning crowd. No direct access to the Mall was possible beneath Admiralty Arch but a sidestreet offered a narrow two-way filter so in I wandered, three hours early. No I did not want a flag, thanks, neither a free one emblazoned with the name of a magazine nor a Union Jack emblazoned with the Queen's face flogged by a geezery stallholder.
The red tarmac of The Mall was mostly clear, other than further security, a few trucks and a couple of pedestrian crossovers. It was immediately important to pick sides, with St James's Park the wiser choice because there'd be space to roam once the two mile procession kicked off. A few keen royalists must have camped out overnight, ever since they flushed out the concertgoers, which afforded them prime position behind two rows of metal barriers. Others had arrived first thing complete with M&S picnics, paper crowns and flags to drape over the backs of their garden chairs. Only a few had turned up in co-ordinated red, white and blue, with most dressed practically in whatever jacket would best fend off the chill and any potential rain.
It was still much much too early, indeed those already here faced a longer wait than the marathon pageant would eventually last. But latecomers' chance of a view was already relegated to standing behind someone, more likely several someones, and hoping no Home Counties interlopers slunk in front of them before kickoff. Later it'd be possible to wave at Johnny Ball, Basil Brush and Valerie Singleton passing by on the upper deck of seven brightly decorated buses, but they were still parked in a nostalgia corral on Horseguards, and for now even the big screen across the road was blank. So little was happening that when a truck drove past loaded with portaloos it earned a rapturous round of applause.
Behind the frontline, in St James's Park, was all the infrastructure required to service a crowd of thousands isolated in the centre of a jubilee circuit. Here were a First Aid hub, a lost child tent, sufficient rows of toilets and a small number of safe unspicy food options (including the all-encompassing 'Fish - Sausage - Burger'). The crew in the souvenir cabin were reduced to checking their phones in the absence of any takers for the £10 official programme. A sliver of Buckingham Palace was visible above the back of the nearest grandstand. I also spotted the BBC's temporary lakeside studio ringed with purple light, though not Kirsty Young, and a number of meandering foreign tourists trying to work out where best to stop.
The best place appeared to be Birdcage Walk because most people hadn't spotted it was part of the parade route so tiptop vantage points remained available. I stood with my back to a Spanish-speaking TV news crew and watched the mounted guards at Wellington Barracks lining up for the off. Police officers with chunky rifles wandered up and down just in case something that never happened happened, and their colleagues wandered past dropping off sandwiches and a choice of crisps from a big cardboard box. Also passing were a crowd of participants in bikegear, parkas and assorted period garb who I assumed I'd see later in the parade, and so it proved. I also spotted most of the carnival segment checking in at the QE2 Conference Centre as I departed, feathers aflutter.
Sunday was also the day of the Big Jubilee Lunch in communities across the country. Not my community, because once again I'd made the elementary mistake of living on a main road where trestle tables weren't an option. But over the last week I have spotted numerous streets across the capital draped in bunting in readiness, the highest concentration in East Sheen whose grid of railwayside cottages seemed ideally suited to celebratory closure. Had I popped down to Kings Road yesterday afternoon (and been mistaken for a local) I might have enjoyed a bake sale, face painting, crown making and the opportunity to Pin The Tail On The Corgi.
Where I actually ended up was Paddington Recreation Ground, entirely unintentionally, and stumbled upon two clusters of tents in the middle of the park. One had a dozen rows of tables outside, at which well-wrapped citizens were eating vegetarian meals packed in brown paper bags (option 1 lentil dal, option 2 loaded mac and cheese, option 3 quinoa, broccoli and spiced cauliflower) while being entertained by a string quartet. The other tent offered activities children might be interested in, assuming retro treats like hoopla, plate-spinning and bowling can still hold the attention in this digital age. This is well-organised and cosy, I thought, but why is a TV crew packing its gear away?
It turned out I'd stumbled upon one of the handful of Big Lunches attended by members of the royal family, in this case Beatrice and Eugenie, and the attendees were all volunteers and community groups who'd helped out in Westminster during the pandemic. I think I just missed the two princesses, their plate-spinning and posy-collecting duties complete, or maybe they were still sat at one of the tables having a nice chat with the family of someone who spent 2020 delivering food parcels. It's not the royal/Paddington mash-up most will remember the jubilee for, but this platinum party hasn't just been about what happened at the palace.
