England is in mourning. Some waited in line for almost 20 hours, looking serious and their eyes bathed in tears, to gather in front of the tomb of the one who was a symbol. That of colonialism, the dominant classes and nepotism.
At a time when the English are wondering if they are going to spend the winter, having to choose between eating or heating, they mourn the death of the oldest of these luxury civil servants whose whims – not wearing the same hat two time, having a servant to put the toothpaste on their toothbrush and another to iron their shoelaces – costs them some 113 million francs a year.
We believe we are dreaming. It is not, however, a fairy tale. Because in real fairy tales, princesses have rotten karmas, incestuous dads, cantankerous stepmothers, evil sisters. Not Elizabeth.
She never shot her manicure while spinning on a spinning wheel or scrubbing the floors, she didn’t have to live in a roommate with dwarfs, nobody gave her a Novichok apple. Her story didn’t end when the prince kissed her.
“She had the ability to entertain herself and see the funny side of life,” her loved ones said. Well, you surprise me.
His main quality is that he hasn’t said anything interesting in 70 years. Everyone respects her for that. Like Federer, he also stamped Mr. Perfect for having entertained us without ever showing the slightest civic courage.
Hit him in a ball, she paraded in a golden carriage. That’s enough to make people happy. We have the heroes we deserve.