The Monarchy.

I did try to think up a more pithy title, unfortunately the words 'The Monarchy' now engender in me such a deep cloying sense of ennui, its all I am able to do to stop myself placing one eyeball against the corner of my desk here at work and have a colleague kick me as hard as he can in the back of the head.

Not that you give a shit about what I mind or don't mind about, the monarchy (its not getting capitalised any more) was always a source of indifference to me, I thought of them all as a kind of living theme park where some odd people swished or sashayed around different parts of the world being a bit distant but largely inoffensive (except for Prince Phillip) with the locals and raising some money for charity, which is good.

Over these past few months though, I've gone right off them. We had all assumed that the Jubilee would be a reassertion of Great Britain, a huge boost for British morale and a shot in the arm for the Great British Way of life. I am a disgustingly average person and where before I was indifferent I'm now firmly against.

The boat race, was it a race? A regatta then, was boring but even then, I felt sorry for Liz and Phil as they stood for hours in the rain in what was, lets all be honest now, a really boring afternoon. The concert came along and I thought, ok, it looks alright, that was until the various celebs stumbled on between songs to offer crushingly sycophantic gushes of bootlickery, I mean to say, who except for the most brazen psychopath would be able to sit through some of the accolades being made and not cringe so much they shrivelled up and turned inside out with shame and embarrassment?

I watched as much of it as I could, which was to say until Rolf Harris came on and started in on the grovelling, I had to turn over before I boaked all over the axminster. I don't think I've seen quite so many people quite so keen to trip over themselves to kiss the arse of any one, at least not since Bill and Katey tied the knot, Pippa must have been livid with the old boot's arse for stealing her backside's limelight for the night...

Most recently though we've had the Queen up in Edinburgh giving Bill a gong for, well I'm not sure what for. Its the Order of the Thistle, which is the highest award you can get from the Queen in Scotland, I think... Some say its been given to William in order to cement relations between Team GB and Scotland. I say Team GB because that is all this really is, it turns out Scottish Nationalism is bad but British Nationalism is good. Indeed, we had Michael Forsyth clarifying the point by explaining, when unionists promote their argument its patriotism (which is good) but when Nationalists promote theirs its Nationalism (which is bad.)

He didn't explain the substantive differences between nationalism of patriotism for two reasons, a) there isn't one what with patriotism actually being a by-product of nationalism and b) because on things to do with Scotland, when Michael Forsyth speaks, what actually happens is, an orifice opens at the front of his head and arse-gravy pours out. It should also be noted, he is one of many with a vested interest in the status quo in-so-far-as he'd be out of a job if Scotland says yes in 2014 (which we absolutely should.)

Anyway, digressing slightly, if the idea behind all the royal shenanigans was to promote Team GB, I think it may have backfired a wee bit. We have the Queen having her arse kissed so enthusiastically it has its own facebook page (I have no idea if that is true but if it is, it means we could all go a poke it too) various people running around the place with a big golden spliff they prefer to call 'the olympic flame' and Prince Bill having the Order of the Thistle pinned to his fancy dress costume. I used to think it was all a bit of a show for the tourists, that it was good because it brought in tourist money, but now its just a political football and where before I liked to think the Queen assiduously kept her role to the ceremonial, they're now making it symbolic of Britain (which it always sort of was) but with the express motive of stifling Scottish Patriotism, sorry, I meant Nationalism.

In short, by allowing the Royal Theme Park to be used as an active Trojan horse for Unionism and in such an in-your-face relentlessly unending (suicide-inducing) way, they've actually turned a great many people off the monarchy and by extension Team GB who before might have been merely indifferent.

I would offer a more in depth explanation of what The Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle is but on flipping over to the wiki entry and reading the first two or three lines, its actually boring as fuck. I don't see the point in repeating what's said when you can go yourself one evening if you've ran out of Nytol and can't get to sleep. What I would say is it has a delightful green ribbon and the medal itself would make a handy Ninja throwing star should the wearer ever have the need to defend himself.

I'm somewhat surprised I managed not to use the word nepotism, I'm deploying it now because in terms of the Order of the Thistle and it being given by the Queen to her Grandson, it would be oddly remiss of me to not point out that it really is very nepotistic indeed.

I also cast an eye down the wiki article and couldn't help but notice I actually know someone who has a KT (yup, that's what it is when shortened, the burds get an LT.) He's Garth Morrison, ex-chief scout and native of East Lothian. I say I know him but I don't really, I once put a marquee up in his garden after which I was given a piece of carrot cake by his wife, which in and of itself isn't particularly interesting and probably still isn't if I said this was the occasion I found out carrot cake actually had carrots in it. A real epiphany I'm sure you'll agree.

If I was ever awarded a KT, I know it goes against the grain but I'd have to accept it. I'd invite the great and the good to the ceremony, including Michael Forsyth, on being awarded, I'd perform a Ninja roll off the stage and embed the medal in his coupon for talking shite on the telly.

Perhaps I could persuade Rolf Harris to come along and kiss my arse as well.