I received an official letter; they posted it through my door.
I noticed, On His Majesty’s Service, as it lay there on the floor
Surprised that the London postmark wasn’t special, in fact, it wasn’t flash
Surprised that it had arrived, my invitation to King Charlie’s bash,
Interested in what others considered attire at its best
I viewed the coronation of our late lamented Liliebet
Sourced a morning suit in mid-tone grey from a Hong Kong online store
I’ll look truly amazing entering Westminster Abbey’s great door
Closing down my laptop, I’ve switched on the kettle. It quickly boils.
I indulge my comfort whilst I’m opening this post from the Royals
Dunkable biscuits and a union-jack mug ready for my tea
OMG, it wasn’t an invitation that was being sent to me
Surely this can’t possibly be true. I’m faint, my stomach feels strange.
It’s an inland revenue letter about an income tax code change
I’ve recently become employed again, doing some part-time work.
I feel utterly idiotic. I feel like such a big berk.
Finally, coronation day arrives, I’m at home, cushions plumped
Tuning in on my fifty-inch flatscreen TV, I feel proud and pumped
Dressed in my online finery, feeling overdressed, somehow fake
And to my King, I’ll raise my mug of tea with some coronation cake
