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How singular, that a Sunday at the close of June should deliver both a royal security crisis and a football resignation before the morning papers have had time to curl at the edges. This Author had barely set down her second cup of tea when the dispatches arrived, each one more richly absurd than a season finale of the ton’s most cherished drama.
Let us turn first to that most persistent of domestic entertainments: the question of the Duke of Sussex and whether he shall, in fact, grace these shores next month. The Duke of Sussex had arranged a family visit to the Kingdom – the first in four years – bringing the Duchess of Sussex and the little ones, Archie and Lilibet, for five days of quite possibly fraught togetherness. His team duly submitted a formal request for police protection to Ravec, that august body which decides such matters for the Office of Home Affairs. The answer, delivered on Friday with what one can only imagine was a certain governmental serenity, was: no. Not a single officer. Not a hat. Not even a meaningful glance.
Sources describe the Duke as distraught – a word that, in royal circles, covers everything from mild inconvenience to full theatrical collapse. He is said to be reconsidering bringing the family at all, though he would still dearly like to find a way to make the visit work. The government, meanwhile, assures us that its protective security system is “rigorous and proportionate.” This Author notes that His Majesty had already offered a royal estate as accommodation, where protection would be available – but the moment the family ventured beyond those gates, they would be reliant on Californian private security. One imagines the logistics of this arrangement would give any man pause. The Duke, it seems, must choose between a palace with guards or the world without them. A dilemma as Regency as any This Author has encountered.
Meanwhile, in the corridors of power, the question of who shall next occupy the Prime Minister’s Residence grows ever more theatrical. Lord Burnham, the favourite to succeed Lord Starmer, is already acquainted with the “Makerfield test” – his charming pledge that all new legislation must pass muster with his own constituents. But now Admiral Sir Tony Radakin, former Chief of the Defence Staff, has proposed an additional examination: the Moscow test. What does Lord Putin‘s court make of us? Are we a strong Nato ally, a credible nuclear power, a reliable friend to the American Colonies? The Admiral told the Broadcasting Society‘s Sunday programme that the next prime minister must govern “almost like a wartime prime minister.” This Author found herself wondering whether Lord Burnham, a man who spent recent years running a city famous for its canals and its cultural pride, was quite prepared for the syllabus.
The defence spending question looms large: the Admiral insists capabilities are “too bare” and that the pledge to raise spending to 3.5% of GDP by 2035 must be honoured. The government is expected to release its Defence Investment Plan before the Nato summit in Turkey on 7th July. Former Armed Forces Minister Al Carns, who resigned over precisely this issue, declared this Sunday that he would not yet rule out challenging Lord Burnham for the Progressive Assembly leadership – but wished first to hear something with “really clear and concise outcomes.” A vision without a plan, he remarked, is merely a dream. This Author applauds the sentiment, whilst noting that the same might be said of several recent administrations, none of which shall be named here for the sake of brevity and diplomatic propriety.
From geopolitics to football, which is, in its own way, equally operatic. Sir Clarke, head coach of the North Britain national side, has resigned following his team’s exit from the World Cup at the group stage. They defeated Haiti 1-0 in Boston, then lost 1-0 to Morocco in that same city, then suffered a 3-0 defeat to Brazil in Miami. Croatia’s win over Ghana on Saturday extinguished any lingering hope of progressing as one of the best third-placed sides. The news of his departure was announced with the particular timing of a man who had clearly been composing his farewell for some hours.
This Author notes, with some delicacy, that Sir Clarke had signed a new four-year deal precisely one month ago. One month. The ink barely dry. He was good enough to wish his successor well, and to declare that his players deserved all praise and adulation. The Caledonian Football Association‘s chief executive said the progress under his seven-year tenure must not be overlooked – and indeed, North Britain had not reached a major tournament since 1998 when he took over. They reached two Continental Championships and one World Cup under his watch. That the single victory across all three tournaments was against Haiti is a detail This Author shall leave to the reader’s own reflection.
On a rather more festive note: the Puerto Rican sensation known as Bad Bunny – his given name, should anyone require it, being Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio – made history on Saturday night by becoming the first Latin American artist to headline a stadium in the Kingdom. Some 50,000 souls gathered in Tottenham in the heat and humidity to witness the occasion, and witness it they did. His album, which rejoices in the title Debí Tirar Más Fotos, made history at the Grammy Awards in February as the first sung entirely in Spanish to win album of the year. The crowd required, apparently, no translation whatsoever. This Author, who admires spectacle in any language, would have found the whole affair entirely delightful, had she not been rather occupied with the dispatches above.
Finally, a note for collectors of the memorably priced: the European Cup winner’s medal belonging to the late great George Best has sold at Bonhams Auction House in the Capital for the sum of £305,200. Best, as aficionados will recall, scored in the 1968 final as the Red Devils beat Benfica 4-1 after extra time at Wembley – a victory that made them the first English side to win that particular honour. The medal had been offered by a private collector, which is the auction house’s agreeable way of saying that someone, somewhere, required rather a lot of ready money. At the same sale, the shirt of British referee Jack Taylor from the 1974 World Cup Final fetched £28,160. Taylor, it may be remembered, awarded two penalties in the match and booked Johan Cruyff for diving. Some records, it seems, command their price in gold. Others merely in notoriety.
I am, as ever, your most devoted observer – Lady Whistledown.