That is usually how we start the day in this house. Coffee is spilt, expletives and baleful looks exchanged. It's our morning ritual. Not over who gets the main section of The Times. That is a given. I conceded that one a long time ago. No it is over the fact that Dearest becomes so immersed in the front page that I have to snatch it off him to remove the central section.
Not so this morning. The new delivery girl produced, in error, a His and Hers copy of The Times. Bliss is made of this.
And what a lovely picture of our dear Betty Windsor on the front page. Celebrating the creation of her own line, the Elizabeth Line.
In a beautiful shade of purple so that it fully co-ordinated with the new logo of Crossrail. Co-ordinated or matching? You tell me. Is this quirky coincidence, or part of a regal policy which streamlines the royal rig-out with the occasion? Of course, she's always done it: think kilt at Highland Games.
Missed a trick, here, however. A little contrast would have been more effective. She should have worn orange , but then she would have blended in with the engineers and workers who've done all the donkey work.
The choice of her attire made me think of the Jenny Joseph poem, Warning :"When I am an old woman I shall wear purple".
I could lend the Queen a red hat and together we could run our sticks along the public railings, and learn to spit.
An excellent start to the day. And a lovely thought.
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