I imagine that so many people go gaga over royalty for one simple reason. We have a tendency of projecting onto celebrated figures our best and most noble human traits. It is almost a kind of self-hatred by default the way people adulate their "betters." But really, we are all the same, all equal and each made in the image of the same God. We are all royalty.
Imagine being followed and hounded by the media throughout your life, every one of your steps, almost every breath of yours being scrutinized. That feeling that the whole world even knows, not only when you're taking a shit, but the kind of toilet paper you use and your particular style of wiping your ass.
I have to admit that, like many, I do admire Will and Kate, especially their desire to be as normal as possible and to know and appreciate normal life as much as possible. They never are going to quite get it of course. I have absolutely no hostility towards them. I rather like the Queen. I would never go out of my way to see them because, quite simply, I have other things to do. I also already have a life.
I also appreciate their interest in becoming familiar with as many facets of Canadian life during their visit here as possible. Including visiting in Canada's poorest postal code an organization for low-income pregnant women and officially opening a welcoming centre for new immigrants and refugees.
They are never going to know what it is like to shop in a budget grocery store, or what it is like to take a bus, seated next to a perfect stranger staring at their iPhone as though they do not exist. They are not going to know what it is like to walk past a street beggar, nor to ignore a clandestine drug deal in broad daylight. Nor will they ever enjoy the innocent pleasures and past times we all take for granted: going to a movie, taking a walk, sitting in a coffee shop with a friend, or alone with your laptop or a newspaper, or having a friendly chat with a stranger in a lineup in a store.
Today I saw their motorcade. The street was blocked off and there were dozens of cops on motorcycles with sirens then a whole cavalcade of black SUV's and minivans, one of them containing the royal couple and their two royal kiddies. One young woman was standing there at the corner of Clark and Venables with her camera and her face lit up with ecstatic delight as she caught them to photograph. I didn't see them. Oh, well, I'm sure they look as normal in the flesh as they do on screen.
One friend of mine said that he wouldn't go out to see the royal couple if they had twenty dollar bills stuck on them for the picking. I replied that if they were hundred dollar bills I might change my mind. He still wasn't persuaded.
I was particularly surprised by my reaction when Will's mom, Diana, died in that awful car crash in Paris nineteen years ago, hounded and chased by paparazzi. What a surreal day that was for me. I had almost not a penny to my name and I still didn't know how I was going to pay the rent, though I did, somehow. I was walking in the early evening and the sun was getting ready to set, casting a magical flaming light on the earth. In an area surrounded by warehouses, razor wire and not much else there were a couple of hookers plying their trade. One I knew from stopping to chat from time to time. One morning at dawn while I was walking to church for early mass she said hi to me, enveloping me in an enormous friendly hug. I went into the chapel with the smell of her perfume hanging from my clothes and I could imagine what it must have been like for Jesus when the sinful woman anointed his feet with perfume while washing them with her tears. There was a two dollar coin on the ground and I put it in my pocket. I stopped by an old house where an old friend of mine once lived. I was curious and had a look in the backyard where two wasps stung me. Then I came across a procession of people I knew from a local Christian community house. I walked with them for a while and we arrived at an outdoor celebration in a park where people were dressed in the most outlandish and brightly coloured costumes. One fellow from New Zealand and I were talking about Costa Rica and I was telling him about my desire to learn Spanish then return to that beautiful country, perhaps to live. He advised me to examine my motives, I guess because it seemed like such a beautiful dream, which of course it was. From the park I walked into downtown and on into the West End where I sat in a coffee shop where I was showing some of my paintings. The owners always gave me free coffee. As my arm began to swell with the wasp venom I went shopping for a chocolate bar to spend the two dollar coin on. In Shoppers Drug Mart I heard someone say, "I can't believe it. It can't be true." I passed by an apartment building. It must have been getting late as it was already dark. There were three people standing outside chatting to a tenant looking out her window. One said, "This is impossible. I'm in shock. Are you sure she's dead?" In the local Safeway I was still seeking a cheap chocolate bar for two bucks. No luck. And I heard the name Diana and the word car crash. I went to the London Drugs across the street where I finally found what I was looking for. Two Swiss chocolate bars for $1.75. My arm was getting worse and I overheard someone else say, Did you hear the news about Princess Diana?
I walked home, all of three or four miles. On the way home on Main Street, a woman, likely a drug addict, asked me for spare change. I gave her my last quarter. Is that all? she said. I replied to the ungrateful bitch that it was my last quarter, take it or leave it. Of course she took it and not one word of thanks. When I arrived home I lay on my bed with my chocolate bars and a glass of milk. I just had one, I think, and it was delicious. I turned on the radio for the news and yes it was true. Princess Diana had just been pronounced dead in a car crash in Paris. While my arm continued to swell and ache with wasp venom I lay back on my pillow and wept.
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