I had to do a double-take.

The TV screens in the corners of the House of Lords Hogwarts chamber announced the state opening of parliament in swirled letters with a crimson backdrop that looked uncannily like an advert for Strictly Come Dancing.

I half expected Brucie to pop his head behind the gilded throne to declare: “Keep dancing.”

Before Brenda finally arrived, there was what seemed an interminable wait. Tiaras and ballgowns shimmered among a rubescent sea of peers laden down by their heavy ermine robes. Remarkably perhaps, it was the princes of the church who boasted the largest amount of dead animal fur, with the Archbishops of Canterbury and York wearing what looked like woolly hooded overcoats.

The long wait was made somewhat more entertaining by that Scottish champion Baroness Helena Kennedy sporting what looked, from a distance, like brightly coloured 3-D glasses.

The Queen in 3-D. Perhaps we all should have had them, it would have certainly livened the antique proceedings up a bit.

As the political aristos chatted away in their bling and beautifully coiffured hair-dos, a hush suddenly descended on proceedings.

Elvira was in the building. There was a distant, muffled fanfare.

Up in the public gallery, Mrs Brown emerged wearing what looked like her own glistening tiara, but was in fact a highly fashionable hat, so I was told.

Mrs Darling, next to her, opted for a safer more ­traditional wide-brimmed number. As the bluemantle pursuivant and the maltravers herald extraordinary did what tradition dictates – whatever that is – HMQ appeared, preceded by the Sword of State and the Cap of Maintenance.

As the Queen matures, the crown she wears for the state opening seems to get bigger every year and sits ever more precariously on her royal head.

After she sat down and then we sat down, the wait for the hoi polloi from the Commons came.

As the hum of voices grew louder, the well-scrubbed peers turned round and looked snootily on the incoming riff raff from the lower end of the Westminster corridor.

Her Britannic Majesty read out the prepared text through a heavy cold and, no doubt, was thankful that this time round it was a short one.

She zipped through her most gracious speech in under seven minutes. The Queen could have been forgiven for thinking unconstitutional thoughts: that this whole exercise was something of a charade, given there are so few

parliamentary days left that few if any of Gordy’s populist measures will ever see the light of day this side of the election.

Having handed back the three sheets of paper to the stoney-faced Lord Chancellor Jack Straw, Brenda carefully made for the exit, crown wobbling ever so slightly.

Lady K popped her 3-D specs back in her bag.

Pity there was no Bruce Forsyth, but then this was strictly constitutional.