I've Been to London to See the Queen (Her House, Anyway)

Yesterday, in the middle of trying to crash a story on the Middle East crisis and another on Colin Farrell (how’s that for multi-tasking?), I got to go to a private opening of the staterooms at Buckingham Palace.

I loved it. Because they’re not yet open to tourists, and because few self-respecting Brits would go to that sort of thing, I had the rooms almost to myself. I could look at portraits of royals (like the Winterhalter ones of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert) that I’ve only seen in books. I could stand at the top of grand staircases and look down without anyone jostling me. I stood in the courtyard imagining carriages pulling up the grand entrance in the 19th century. Then I stood before the thrones in John Nash’s awe-inspiring throne room, examined the ceiling of the room where Prince Charles and then Prince William were baptized, and listened as someone from the “F division” – food division – explained how they used rulers to set the table precisely and (my favorite factette) that menus were sent up to the Queen in French. Apparently she’s very good at French, and can spot any error.

If I hadn’t desperately needed to use my phone (see “crash a story”) – and you can’t in the palace – I might have stayed for hours.