By TheOttawacker

Final days of something

Obviously, as the Commonwealth's last bastion of normality (I don't count New Zealand because it is too perfect to be normal), we had to mark the passing of the Duke of Edinburgh in some way or other. Flags were lowered, statements issued, and a faint hush fell around the city.

I'm not a monarchist, but his death marks the end of a decent enough man who managed to shift some of his views over time (big game hunting to conservationist, for example) if not his tongue. He lived 99 good years in good health with the best of all things at his immediate behest should he want it.

I actually had a soft spot for him (not just the moorland at the back of the house) and his faux pas. But, as the saying goes, I'll be bollixed if I am going to observe mandated silences or rage against the dying of his specific machine. 

He and his ilk are anachronistic to modern society. He didn't speak out against the austerity implemented in his wife's name upon the people of his country, the people whom he is supposed to have served with such great dedication over the years. He was no champion of the oppressed or man of the people. He may have been funny and kind, sensible and intelligent - but so was my dad, and there were no panels of pseudo experts on hand to get 2 minutes' fame by dissecting his life.

He lived a privileged life to the full. Fine by me. I'm happy with my lot. I feel sorry for any family that buries a loved one. But that's about as far as it goes...

(Can you tell I am in a foul mood still?)

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