I sang "God Save the King" for the first time the other day, at church (Anglican, of course). It was, I admit, weird not to sing the Royal Anthem on auto-pilot, and the verger says i sang "her" (instead of "him") twice nevertheless.

As a Canadian, I appreciate the Crown as a counter-weight to the necessarily partisan politics of Parliament, a constitutional benefit we get for close to free thanks to the good people of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. I imagine the Governor-General and the Lieutenants-General as a pale analogue of Nemesis whispering in the ear of Caesar that he's just a politician and must, therefore, eventually get the boot.

Like every other member of the Canadian Armed Forces, I swore that oath on enrolment, and I did it again as a federal civil servant. Each time, the solemn little ceremony gave me the same frisson I felt when I said "I will" at the chancel steps.

I don't have network or cable television, so the wall-to-wall coverage there doesn't affect me, but most of the two Canadian newspapers I read, and about a third of the New York Times, are currently not worth bothering with. I've had it with marmalade sandwiches and the fate of the corgis -- except for the part where Prince Andrew finally has something useful to do, as a dog-walker -- and mawkish verse on Facebook. Now I want Op London Bridge to hustle on to its conclusion with the funeral so we can all stop bloody reminiscing.