The Queen and I: A Comparative Study

Who's more in tune with the traditions of our fine country, me or the queen?

The queen, who commands a flotilla of ships to bob past while celebrating the 60th anniversary of the death of her dad, OR me, who as my ancestors have done before me, and I am powerless to prevent myself similarly doing, spent a damp bank holiday in Ikea, getting angrier and angrier at the food queues and the people with their gobs agape at some toilet-roll holders and my failing to consider whether any of the crap we've just bought would fit in the car (it did - just - although we had to remove Frank's car seat and just have him crawl around on the flat-pack boxes, with a stern warning that if we were to crash, he was not allowed to hit our car seats with the force of an elephant like in those adverts glamourising car crashes) and hitting the most tedious road works on the most tedious motorway (M1 - it is) from the most tedious town (I'm too much of a gent to name it, but it begins with Milton, and remember, I'm from Stevenage, so I KNOW roundabouts)?

Answer - it's me. I'm the one who keeps up empty and unenjoyable rites handed down through the ages in order to cement my place in society (the lower middle classes - I don't want the queen to think that I'm a threat to her on any other fronts).