TIARAS, top hats and turbans - but not a Scottish Nationalist in sight.
Her Majesty's SNP does not do lords and ladies but is officially pro-monarchy, apart from, that is, a few, whisper it quietly, republicans.
The state opening of Parliament is, according to the official programme, a "collar day", which means the Upper Chamber becomes a tight-buttoned, straight-backed sea of lordly crimson and ermine. In the middle sat the judiciary in their imposing full-bottomed wigs and over in one corner were the foreign ambassadors in all their exotic finery. The gilded chamber shimmered with all the bejewelled toffery.
It was a long wait before Brenda arrived. So the chamber was full of chatter as political friends and foes put aside their differences for an hour to chew the fat. Democracy in action; it is a truly touching sight.
You knew HMQ was in the building when a hurried hush descended upon the gathering. Large oak doors were closed. Off in the distance, military types with large plumed headwear appeared. Not long now.
Then the pantomime crowd began to shuffle in; the Fitzalan Pursuivant Extraordinary followed by, among others, the Portcullis Pursuivant, the Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod and, of course, how could we forget, the Clarenceaux King of Arms.
Then the 89-year-old sovereign, carefully balancing the large bauble on her head, arrived followed by the rest of the glum-looking royal entourage. The chamber respectfully rose as one. HMQ carefully sat down on the goldenest of golden thrones and told her faithful barons and baronesses to do likewise.
And there they sat for a good five minutes, twiddling their thumbs, waiting for the MPs to turn up for the Gracious Speech. The pause felt long. Thoughts of holidays, shopping trips, family visits bounced off the oak panels as the peers waited and waited for the riff-raff from down the corridor to turn up.
A well-scrubbed Michael Gove, the newly-installed Lord Chancellor, looking the part in his black and gold robe, kept looking over his shoulder to see whether his big moment had arrived.
Then, off in the distance, the low hum of the hoi polloi could be heard. Prince Philip, sitting on a throne just a couple of inches lower than his wife, looked as bored as bored could be. Internally, he was no doubt shouting: "Get on with it!"
Down the corridor came the riff-raff. Opposite numbers tried desperately to say something nice to each other in the 60-second small talk they had to endure from chamber to chamber.
Finally, they reached the bar of the Lords. Mr Gove received the signal and made the long journey up three steps. Kneeling, he removed the speech from an ornate bag and handed it to the Queen. Then, shock horror, he turned his back, made his way gingerly down the three steps, turned again and bowed.
The Gracious Speech by Her Most Excellent Majesty was an ambitious menu which David Cameron insisted would be a One Nation programme from a One Nation Government. Of course, some might conclude the one nation he was talking about was England.
After 15 minutes or so, almighty God was invoked and the speech was over. Bauble wobbling, HMQ inched her way with the trusty hand of the Duke of Edinburgh down the three steps, bowed to her subjects and made her way slowly to the disrobing room.
The Queen's 62nd Gracious Speech was over. Lunch beckoned.
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