The current hysterical speculation about whether or not the Prince of Wales’ valet was offering services to his master that were above and beyond the call of duty is probably never going to be settled one way or another. As the Burrell PR machine gossip was spreading like wildfire, and newspapers in Britain were straining at the leash to print what was visible on computer screens all over the world, I began to appreciate a bit more the unique character of monarchy as symbolic government.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m a republican through and through, and I’m particularly proud of the Irish presidency, as an institution and in person, since 1990. Having a head of state that is elected means that citizens can feel proud that they played a part in who represents their nation – or, of course, ashamed. There are still surprises, but mostly, people get what they voted for. (Or not, if you voted for Al Gore. Let’s not go there.)
But that’s politics. And as much as I love politics, and am in favour of politicising the role of head of state in all nations, I am currently intrigued by the way monarchy too can act as a force for change in the psyche of a nation. In its own way, the unstoppable snowballing family drama at the heart of a nation’s constitution can usher in changes in social attitudes that political movements rarely achieve. And, also, given the role the British sovereign plays in Anglican Christianity, further afield than that.
It’s all about sex, really. And love. And responsibility. And commitment. And lying and cheating. And failure and success. And making meaning from it all. Just like real life. You could pick any other family and put it in the same position as the Windsors, and you’d get the same dramatic ingredients, but with a different flavour. I don’t believe them to be extraordinary in any way, except for the corrosive effects of the constant scrutiny and pressure, most especially in the necessity to spin a distractingly plausible public persona in order to create a private one. But in this era, there is no escape, everything becomes public knowledge.
The materialistic British think in hierarchies and class, and the most common criticism of the royals is of the wealth and privilege they enjoy, but they would attract that envy whether or not they had titles or a constitutional role. They get criticised for expressing opinions that are inappropriate for supposedly impartial heads of state, like Charles’ campaign against modernist architecture – but that happens everywhere in the free world, and changing the method by which a head of state is chosen would not eliminate that. Those two criticisms aside, and we’re left with the rest, which is, really, beyond criticism, because it’s so human: – the gob-smacking, headline-grabbing, utterly compelling behaviour of one family born into the royal zoo. As in every family, there are secrets, there are affairs, there are pretend marriages and sleazy divorces, children of dubious parentage, and gay aunts and uncles (although not all of them form loving relationships with Noel Coward, as the Queen’s uncle Prince George did). In a monarchy, the subjects see their own chaotic humanity reflected in one messily extended (one might say distended) family. Their head of state represents them, not as an expression of their will, but as a symbol of what happens when you leave it to chance and pick a random soul, one who happens to be born to the right person at the right time. It is this randomness that is beguiling. A few jokers in the pack peel off, like Edward for Mrs Simpson, but in the main most stay committed to fulfil the role that fate has chosen for them. It’s quite gloriously irrational.
I’m saying nothing new so far. The Windsor goldfish bowl has been entertaining for aeons. But in terms of sexual politics, the fact that the heir to the throne may or may not be bisexual throws up a mirror to our own confusion about sex and fidelity and conformity and propriety. The politics of radical sexual liberation would demand that the Prince be firmly “outed” and that he be proud of his liaisons, if they were true, and not cover them up and be ashamed of them. But – and this is the redeeming quality of monarchy – real life isn’t political, it’s messy and raw and petty and clumsy and embarrassing. Re-reading the transcript of the late-night telephone call between the Prince of Wales and Camilla one can have no doubt that he has passionate, loving sex with women, and gets off on it enough to want to come back as a box of Tampax. That’s so earthily heterosexual that I doubt his interest in men could be very strong, if indeed it does exist. Maybe, as a former public schoolboy, he got used to having his fags relieve him. I have had sex with such men, and it’s almost like a confidence trick of the mind – they’re not aroused by men, but get off on the physical sensation of being pleasured by someone in a subordinate role. It’s lazy masturbation. It’s a curious experience being the, erm, servicer to such a man – one feels rather unattractive, or, at the very least, invisible. I don’t like it. It’s icy cold, passionless. But it’s something that a certain kind of man would like very much, I imagine. It’s horny, it’s exciting, and it’s really quite harmless.
Unless your life is owned by the public. Then there is undoubted harm to the individual and his family, however enlightening it is to the public – for far too many people have an uninformed opinion, including me. From a civil liberties position, I urge the abolition of all monarchies – one should not have to suffer this flaying humiliation unless one consciously chooses it, and is not groomed as a child into believing one has no choice. It took an American woman, steeped in democratic egalitarianism, to persuade the last king to abdicate, pointing out that the bars on his cage in the royal zoo were only there if he wanted them to be. He was promptly ostracised from his family and exiled – something which no doubt influences any future young king’s attitude to his fate. Conform or be exiled. A depressing choice. But one that we all face, to a greater or lesser degree.
Release the Windsors from their zoo, in the name of humanity.
But not yet.