This last week has been notable for the passing of two somewhat momentous occasions.  The first of these was my daughter’s twelfth birthday. I’m writing this post from a room strung with a multi-coloured array of mylar and latex party balloons. There would have been more of them but for the fact that we’re currently suffering a global helium shortage, exacerbated by the Russia-Ukraine war, and so there was a limit of two per customer at the party store. Apparently, Russia is one of the world’s top helium suppliers. Who knew?

To be honest, there was a part of me that was glad about that, because as I was blowing up balloons the day before her birthday I couldn’t help thinking what a waste it was that they were all going to end up in landfill in a few day’s time. I kept these thoughts to myself because my daughter loves decorations and was super excited about waking up in the morning a whole year older than she was when she went to bed. She already thinks I’m Chief Sargeant of the Fun Police because I won’t buy her a smartphone. There’d be tantrums if I told her she couldn’t have any balloons on her birthday.

The other momentous occasion of the past week is a little more sombre: the passing of Queen Elizabeth II. I was driving to work when I found out. I switched on the radio and the Prime Minister was speaking about the time when she gave the Queen a gift of a framed photo taken of her younger self when she was touring New Zealand in the 1950s. That’s weird, I thought, why on earth would the Prime Minister be talking about the Queen on national radio? Then it clicked. Responsible driver that I am, rather than texting my wife myself, I told Siri to. What did I want to say? Siri asked. “I think the Queen is dead”. “Whaaaaat?” came the reply, and then a few minutes later the radio discussion confirmed my suspicions.

Image by minka2507 from Pixabay

I knew straight away it was going to be one of those ‘what were you doing when you heard such and such had happened’ moments. When I first heard Kurt Cobain had died, I was walking back to my flat after purchasing a three-pack of sports socks at the nearest department store. Listening to the radio while driving to work is on par with that in terms of excitement levels, so when I tell my grandchildren the story I think I’ll spice it up a little. I’ve come up with three options:

1. I was riding a motorcycle upside down inside a steel globe that had been set on fiyaaah.
2. I was fending off a great white shark which had attacked me while I was attempting to break the world free-diving record off the coast of Costa Rica.
3. I was playing the accordion and eating a spicy shrimp gumbo while wrestling alligators in a Louisiana bayou (or, alternatively, playing the accordion and eating alligator gumbo while wrestling shrimp in a Louisiana bayou).

They’re all infinitely more impressive than the truth, but which do you think sounds the best?

I’m no royalist by any means, but I can honestly say I was a little bit sad when I heard the news. Counting the volume of blood spilt in the name of British imperialism would be enough to make anyone cry but it was nothing to do with that and anyway, I’m not sure you can blame the Queen for the historical actions of her countrymen. One can get cynical about these things but by all accounts, she was a pretty decent woman who did her best to make a positive impact on the world while trying to cope with a dysfunctional family, just like most of us.

On a related note, given the general atmosphere of the times, I decided it had been far too long since I’d listened to The Smiths’ seminal 1986 album, The Queen is Dead. As a typically awkward teenager, The Smiths were on high rotate through my headphones in the early to mid nineties, but it’s been ages since I listened to a whole album from beginning to end. So I dialed it up on Spotify and blasted it on the drive home from work. Boy, it’s a cracker of an album, especially the second half. It brought back some wonderful memories and when I got home, I almost wanted to go straight to bed and cry myself to sleep, just like I used to when I was seventeen. Here’s the title track, live at the University of Salford from back in the days when Morrissey was fun. What a great gig this must’ve been.

What were you doing when you heard the Queen had died? Let me know in the comments (if it’s interesting, that is; otherwise, you can keep it to yourself).

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