I'VE now lived through the tenure of 12 US presidents, seven Irish presidents, 12 taoisigh, 14 UK prime ministers, seven popes and one queen.
It poses me absolutely no difficulty recognising that Queen Elizabeth was an impressive individual who, over seven decades, diligently performed her duties. That does not preclude me from pointing out that just as Elizabeth II was never my queen, so Charles III will never be my king.
I will never bow my head nor bend my knee to any monarch as I refuse to acknowledge their dominion over me. I was so proud of those last sentences I considered having them made into postcards; that was until my wife pointed out the unlikelihood of me ever being close enough to royalty to necessitate a nod, bend or curtsey.
Suitably chastened, I didn't join the ranks of those disrespectful ogres who celebrated the death of a nonagenarian. Indeed, while Queen Elizabeth was alive but obviously seriously ill, I tweeted on anti-social media: "You don't have to be a Royalist to respect those who are. Be kind, it costs nothing."
Of course, this triggered an avalanche of vitriol from the intellectually-challenged and emotionally-stymied recesses of the internet. I was therefore heartened to see that Sinn Féin took a mature attitude offering their condolences and acknowledging the grief of their unionist neighbours.
It's no doubt due to my age, but I admit finding it surreal watching Alex Maskey welcome King Charles to Hillsborough Castle. Karma was in overdrive as Jim Allister was left sitting forlorn outside the room where the new king met leaders from the main parties.
King Charles was filmed saying to Michelle O'Neill: "Thank you so much for all the kind things you said about Mama." She replied: "She played a great role here bringing reconciliation and peace."
He then commented to Alex Maskey, there as Assembly Speaker, about how Sinn Féin had become the largest party at Stormont. Mr Maskey replied, "Don't be telling Jeffrey that now", as Jeffrey Donaldson stood awkwardly within earshot.
Failed politician Arlene Foster took offence at the amount of media coverage given to this historic interaction between monarch and republicans. Her pathetic desperation to appear relevant was thankfully offset by those who applauded the warmth and humanity of the exchange.
Most people understood this wasn't the time to engage in a debate about the rights or wrongs of monarchy. Instead, now was the time to respect those who loved their queen and allow them to bury her as they saw fit.
Admittedly, as the week went on this became challenging, with television stations defaulting to 24/7 coverage, interviewing everyone who had ever met, seen, heard or been within a mile of the late monarch.
Every time I turned on my TV, some group of men in fancy dress were either giving three cheers for King Charles or singing the national anthem, or both.
To retain my sanity, I decided to recast the whole thing in my mind as an uber-Irish funeral. In this scenario the queen was the Irish mammy who had died while living with her son and his wife on the family farm at Balmoral. The son who'd waited a lifetime to take over the farm was torn between relief his time had finally arrived and guilt about being relieved.
As with most Irish farms, male primogeniture was the norm, with the eldest son destined to inherit all. This had caused friction among the next generation with younger son Harry deciding, as his brother Willie would inherit everything, that he'd up sticks and move with his new wife Meghan to America.
The death of their granny had forced the warring brothers to temporarily bury the hatchet and put on a united front rather than have the whole country talking about them. This, of course, only lasted until the family returned to Buckingham Palace for a drink following the burial.
Festering jealousies then exploded with palace equerries flung aside by the fighting brothers, whilst Meghan and Catherine climbed onto their respective spouses' backs screaming, "Leave it, leave it, he isn't worth it."
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MY OWN family drama continues apace with my daughter testing positive for Covid days after my wife exited isolation. I'm trying my best to be sympathetic but that's proving hard as every time I enquire how she's feeling, the daughter theatrically coughs in my direction.
If I'm missing next week, you'll know she got me, and in that instance I bequeath everything to my eldest son.
