A Right Royal Affair

The Queen. The nation’s Grandma. Being offered the chance to take tea in Her Maj’s company is not something a girl is offered regularly. So when I was told that I had been invited to the Queen’s annual Garden Party my heart skipped a Royal beat.

Four Royal Garden Parties are held each year, three at Buckingham Palace and one at Holyrood House in Scotland. The one I attended was the first of the summer and it was a very exciting affair.

Our invitations had arrived in the post two months before the party. It included a personal invitation from the Lord Chamberlain and a leaflet on what was appropriate to wear. Ladies had to wear a hat, and men a lounge or morning suit. My Dad was set, as was myself and my Mam. My sister on the other hand ended up with a too-big gold hat and what can only be described as an orthopaedic shoe.

Making my way down to London with my parents and my sister, I found out that I had only been able to go with them because I was under 25 and unmarried. So, apart from that depressing and a touch insulting fact, I was worried as what to expect.

Our hotel was a short distance from the Palace and was filled mostly with Garden Party guests. Worryingly, those guests seemed to be of a certain age, that being over 65, so I began to think that I would stick out like a sad little sore thumb.

My dress already made me resemble a melting ice cream and my shoes were a touch inappropriate. But now the day had come I couldn’t go back on my choices, I had to lie in my ‘practically deemed a spinster’ bed.
After months of watching YouTube videos of pillocks in hats meeting the Queen, the day had finally arrived. I got dressed in to what I deemed an appropriate outfit for a ‘yes I’m 20 and unmarried but I’m not a cat-lover just yet’ girl and headed to the Palace.

Although we were only 500 metres from Buckingham Palace, we got a taxi. It was a very hot day and who wants to prance about in their finery when you were no doubt going to get caught up in a tourist group tramping on you with their platform trainers.

Paying all of £3.20, we headed to the back of the well-dressed queue that was beginning to form. We became a bit of a tourist attraction in the end, God knows how many photos I will be on in China, and I must admit it added to the overwhelming atmosphere of the day. Paparazzi also photographed me twice and, yes, I did feel special.

We walked through the heavily policed gates and made our way through the house to the garden. It was like a sea of very well-dressed people, with a few questionable hats and skirt lengths thrown into the mix.
There were two tents, one for the peasant masses and one for (actual) Royalty. We headed there first after a quick pit stop at the barley water stand (I’m not even joking). The choice of twee was huge. Egg and cress sandwiches, sans crust, and triple layered Victoria sponge graced the white linen tables, all in mini form of course.

I chose some Sandringham apple juice and walked around the rose garden, trying, very uncoolly, to be in every shot for the DVD. Whether I was successful or not remains uncertain.

The gates had opened at 3pm and the Queen was coming out at 4, so we decided to wait to fill our slightly-posh boots.

We were instructed to form lines for the Queen’s entrance with enough gap so she could move through and meet the lucky few who were going to be introduced.

The RAF brass band began tooting the national anthem as the Queen arrived and took her place alongside Prince Philip on the top of the stairs. She was wearing a buttercup yellow dress and long jacket with a silver embellishment across the front. She had a matching hat and white gloves and, surprisingly, a little black handbag.

We ended up at the front of the queue, near the Royal tea tent after what felt like a lifetime’s worth of bustling about between Yeoman and clucking women. We finally got our place at the end of the line, however, looking back, this was probably a mistake. We were waiting for nearly an hour until she came past. Our entertainment in the wait was banter with the Beefeaters and wondering whether that man opposite was Feargal ‘a good heart these days is hard to find’ Sharkey. Turns out it was.

After the best part of an hour, and after my ankles had swollen like a sponge, the Queen finally made her way past a lady emulating a human Oscar and walked our way. Two girls were pulled out from next to us to meet her; I’m not bitter about that still, honest. Everyone stood stock still as she came into the vicinity. She looked lovely and her hair looked like a cloud up close. A proper little Granny.

And then she looked at me and smiled! I nearly died with excitement. Feargal Sharkey and his bit didn’t even get a look in! Serves you right matey for wearing brown loafers with cream chinos at the Palace. Fool.
Once the Queen was out of sight (i.e. mobbed by her bodyguards – some cheery Scouts and Guides) we hot footed it to the tea tent. We were greeted by a disappointed few who had done what we had – sacrificed a fruit slice to see her Maj up close.

We spent the rest of the time sitting in the sun with our fifth glass of barley water and wondering what on earth Feargal Sharkey was doing there. Many guests had made a half moon-shaped gathering around Her Maj and Pip’s tent, and watched them eat cake. That did not sound too much of a plan to me.

At about 5.30pm the Queen left the party and headed back, again with the brass band playing ‘God save the Queen’ after her. We left at about 6.30 after a policeman asked us ‘kindly’ to leave.

And the party was over. After two ice creams, a fair few barley waters and a smile from the Queen, it turned out to be one of the greatest experiences of my life.

We walked out of Buckingham Palace knowing that it would be very unlikely that we’d step foot back in the place. Well, until I marry Harry that is. Here’s hoping.