The mood of the nation, if I have read it correctly, has been one of muted joy over the past few weeks. We are not in ecstasies. We are not in a state of hysterical . We are not like Catholics expecting the enthronement of a Pope, still less like music fans in an arena awaiting the arrival of our favourite rock star.We certainly are not treating as an excuse for saying how much we love personally, or indeed any of , some of whose members are not only bad jokes in themselves, but threaten to make the whole monarchical system itself seem like a bad joke. But, nonetheless, despite this, we are quietly and strangely happy.‘I’m really looking forward to it,’ said the kind young woman at a lending library which I visit every few weeks. If she had been in her late middle-age, the remark would not have struck me as surprising. But she can’t be more than 25. She is of Bangladeshi origin, I’d guess. She wears the hijab. ‘We’re all looking forward to it, aren’t we?’
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