Yet Another Queen Story
I Once Met the Queen — From 20 Miles Away
It's Nottingham, England, 1993, and the Queen is coming to open the new university library.
I was studying Biology there at the time. I can't remember why. Something to do with wanting to get into conservation and save the planet. (Ha!)
The Queen’s visit was planned for Friday morning, and as we didn’t have any lectures, my mate Andy suggested we go and see Queenie.
I was quite shocked. Andy was a neo-Marxist Nihilist who believed in the abolition of everything, including himself. So why he wanted to get up early to gawk at the Monarch, I couldn’t understand.
I was the posh private school boy — it should have been me going. But I’d learnt my lesson 15 years ago when our school was forced to wait for five hours in freezing cold rain to see Princess Diana’s foot.
The late Princess’ helicopter having landed with the door facing the other way from our school party, so when she alighted, all we could see was the lower part of her leg disappear into a black Daimler, and that was that. Five hours of my life wasted.
‘I’m done with Royal visits,’ I declared.
But Andy persuaded me. ‘It’ll be fun!’ he exclaimed with a strange patriotic zeal.
I don’t know what he was up to. Maybe he was going to throw a bomb. But as he’d just had his perfect green Mohican restyled at great expense, I doubt he wanted it messed up by a sniper rifle’s bullet.
So it was Thursday night, and we were all in the Plumtree downing pints and talking about what would happen later — Thursday being the big night in those days. A few were going to Rock City. Some to Ritzy’s to get obliterated on triple shots. Others had heard rumours of a rave going on in an old quarry outside the city.
At the time, these raves were becoming increasingly rare as the government were finding more and more ways to stop young people having fun.
Luckily, the organizers had found a disused quarry which you could only get to on foot, the equipment and generators lugged there on trolleys. The Feds would find it eventually — they always did — but for the time being, it was party time.
‘Let's go,’ Andy insisted, always eager for a big night.
‘How about the Queen?’ I said, remembering our date with the Monarch the next morning.
‘We’ll get back in time, no worries.’
Yeah, right! I’d been to these parties before, and with the vast range of illegal pharmaceuticals on offer, there was almost no chance in hell we’d be back to see The Queen.
It was now Friday morning. The drugs were loosening their grip and tiredness was beginning to creep in. Andy was probably going to ingest another tranche of amphetamines, but I knew when to stop. So I wandered out of the quarry to find a quiet spot to sit down in, smoke a joint, and chill out.
An hour later, I heard footsteps behind me. Andy sat down. He looked tired as well, and had probably come to see if I wanted to go back home in his van.
‘Have we missed The Queen?’ he asked, forlornly.
I nodded.
According to the notices around the university, The Queen was due to arrive at the new library at 10:21am precisely. Not 10:20 or even 10:25. But at exactly 10:21am. Presumably so the snipers could be in place, and ready to fire, the second someone like Andy tried to throw a bomb.
‘It’s 11:34 am,’ I told him. ‘We’ve missed our chance.’
Or had we…?
I looked towards the city 20 miles away in the distance, and noticed a large object rise from the hill on which Nottingham Castle stands. A giant eagle or UFO. Or more likely, a military helicopter whisking Her Majesty away from the city.
‘There she goes,’ I cried out, pointing to the chopper.
‘God, you're right. We didn’t miss her after all,’ he said excitedly.
Then Andy raised his can of Special Brew to the disappearing craft, almost in salute, and roared out with pure patriotic fervour, a tear running down his cheek: ‘God save the Queen.’
To this day, it remains one of the most passionate — and most unexpected — displays of emotion I’ve ever witnessed.
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