The King and His Subjects

Programming note: Greetings from Ukraine, where I promised last week I would be here to do my time-zone recitation of "Keeeeeeeeeeeeev" direct from the actual Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeev. Alas, I grew weary of the scammers pressing in on all sides in Independence Square, so I decided to continue eastward. I hope to be here tomorrow, Wednesday (electricity and Internet permitting), for another edition of our Clubland Q&A live from Kharkhiv - unless I overshoot and wind up in Russian-occupied territory, in which case the EU will impose sanctions against me and the US will temporarily waive the sanctions in order to keep oil below a hundred clams a barrel. Either way, I'll be here to take questions from Mark Steyn Club members live around the planet at 3pm North American Eastern - which is now restored to its regular hour across the Atlantic: 8pm in London, 9pm in western Europe, and 10pm in Ukraine. The drone blackouts are lengthier in this part of the country, so, if I'm not here at the appointed hour, we shall reconvene the following morning.

Meanwhile, I'm enjoying the train announcements. Yesterday afternoon the conductor went from "Relax, get ready to vacation!" to "In case of explosions, throw yourself on the ground" with just two intervening sentences. As the clock approached the hour, we were invited to stand for a minute of silence to honour Ukraine's fallen. All but three men did so, as the tannoy played Big Ben-esque bongs, not a sound I have ever heard in a railway carriage before. It is hard to stand stiffly and dignified as your carriage buckets over Ukraine's wretched train tracks, but the ladies especially gave it a shot, and the result was strange but moving.

One hundred years ago today - April 21st 1926 - HRH The Duchess of York gave birth to a daughter at the London home of her father, the fourteenth Earl of Strathmore and Kinghorne. The house at 17 Bruton Street in Mayfair no longer stands because Canadian Pacific demolished it to put up a luxury hotel, which itself no longer stands. But until recently the little girl born on the site still stood, and kept the House of Windsor standing too.

I thought she would still be with us on this day - her mum made her century - but the lockdown years took their toll. It is only three-and-a-half years since she left us, yet the monarchy shrinks day on day. Shortly after her Coronation in 1953, Her late Majesty departed London for a seventh-month inaugural tour of a small sliver of her overseas possessions. Her son cannot do that because he is far sicker than has ever been publicly acknowledged, and his treatment requires a weekly procedure performed each week in London, around which have to be fitted his Royal duties. So, for example, when he delivered the Throne Speech at the opening of the Canadian Parliament, he flew in the day before, got in a bit of perfunctory multiculti bollocks en route to Rideau Hall for an early night (it was felt safer to keep him on London time for his short stay in Ottawa), presided in majesty the following morning, and was driven straight back to the airport.