broad expanse of The Mall and the magnificence of Buckingham Palace looms ahead of us. My knees start to tremble. Tod parks up in a side street and then, casually, takes my arm as we walk the short distance to the imposing gates of the palace.
We’re stopped at the gates by armed policemen and Tod shows our invitation. We’re waved in and we follow the rest of the guests heading towards the Grand Entrance. There are footmen in red and gold livery to show us the way. We enter a large quadrangle and make our way across and up the red-carpeted stairs and into the palace itself. My grip on Tod’s arm tightens.
‘OK?’
I take a deep breath. ‘A bit wobbly.’
‘You’re doing fine.’ He puts his hand on top of mine.
We’re shown into an impressive hall decorated in white and gold with red carpet. This is quite the most sumptuous room that I’ve ever seen. It’s thronging with people and is babbling with welcome noise. They all look like they know what they’re doing, whereas I don’t. When we’re offered champagne by a liveried butler, I take one and try to sip it demurely while resisting the urge to knock it back in one. Tod, probably quite wisely, sips an orange juice.
There’s a clap of hands. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ a man says. ‘Please make your way to the ballroom.’
We’re escorted up a stunning staircase decked with enormous, sparkling chandeliers and into a long gallery that has a high, glass ceiling and is lined with pictures of past royalty. The excitement inside me is rising to fever pitch and I don’t know how I manage to keep myself walking beside Tod at a sedate pace. It opens into a vast ballroom hung with dazzling chandeliers. At one end is a canopy of red velvet drapes embroidered with gold, beneath which are the thrones for the Queen and Prince Philip. The walls are lined with tables, laden with trays of canapés and fabulous flower arrangements. Music wafts from the gallery at the other end, provided by a string quartet.
‘This is the room where they hold the Investiture ceremonies,’ Tod whispers to me.
I don’t think I’m ever likely to get a knighthood so this may be my only ever chance to be in this room.
‘Impressive, eh?’
Mind-numbing, speech-robbing, breathtaking. ‘Oh, yes,’ I finally manage.
I notice that Prince Charles is in the middle of the crowd and I’ve only ever seen him on the telly before. I’ve never even seen a member of the royal family in the flesh, let alone been in the same room as any of them. I get a star-struck head rush. ‘Wow,’ I breathe.
‘Let’s work the room,’ Tod says. ‘We’ll see if we can get nearer to the Prince later.’
Still clinging to him, I trail in his wake as he approaches people we don’t even know and introduces us.
As the night wears on and the champagne starts to loosen my tongue, I find myself talking to other people who are just like me and have been helped by The Prince’s Trust to start their own business. I meet a woman who runs a small tea room, a young man with his own landscape gardening business and someone who designs funky stationery. I even find myself talking to the Ambassador for Nigeria about diamanté sparkles of all things.
Tod introduces me to a woman called Della, who I have a real laugh with as I tell her all about my business. She asks me to send her a sample handbag and slips me a business card. She’s from a PR agency, but I’ve never heard of it. They are all suitably impressed with my handbag.
Just as the evening is drawing to a close and my jaw is aching from smiling and my head is spinning from too much champagne, one of the footmen approaches us and ushers us towards Prince Charles. We stand in a short line and then I’m presented to His Royal Highness. I have no idea what he says or what I say back, but I shake his hand and I think I curtsy, even though I’m not sure if I’m supposed to. Before I have the chance to do anything else, I’m whisked away again.
‘Did
We’re stopped at the gates by armed policemen and Tod shows our invitation. We’re waved in and we follow the rest of the guests heading towards the Grand Entrance. There are footmen in red and gold livery to show us the way. We enter a large quadrangle and make our way across and up the red-carpeted stairs and into the palace itself. My grip on Tod’s arm tightens.
‘OK?’
I take a deep breath. ‘A bit wobbly.’
‘You’re doing fine.’ He puts his hand on top of mine.
We’re shown into an impressive hall decorated in white and gold with red carpet. This is quite the most sumptuous room that I’ve ever seen. It’s thronging with people and is babbling with welcome noise. They all look like they know what they’re doing, whereas I don’t. When we’re offered champagne by a liveried butler, I take one and try to sip it demurely while resisting the urge to knock it back in one. Tod, probably quite wisely, sips an orange juice.
There’s a clap of hands. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ a man says. ‘Please make your way to the ballroom.’
We’re escorted up a stunning staircase decked with enormous, sparkling chandeliers and into a long gallery that has a high, glass ceiling and is lined with pictures of past royalty. The excitement inside me is rising to fever pitch and I don’t know how I manage to keep myself walking beside Tod at a sedate pace. It opens into a vast ballroom hung with dazzling chandeliers. At one end is a canopy of red velvet drapes embroidered with gold, beneath which are the thrones for the Queen and Prince Philip. The walls are lined with tables, laden with trays of canapés and fabulous flower arrangements. Music wafts from the gallery at the other end, provided by a string quartet.
‘This is the room where they hold the Investiture ceremonies,’ Tod whispers to me.
I don’t think I’m ever likely to get a knighthood so this may be my only ever chance to be in this room.
‘Impressive, eh?’
Mind-numbing, speech-robbing, breathtaking. ‘Oh, yes,’ I finally manage.
I notice that Prince Charles is in the middle of the crowd and I’ve only ever seen him on the telly before. I’ve never even seen a member of the royal family in the flesh, let alone been in the same room as any of them. I get a star-struck head rush. ‘Wow,’ I breathe.
‘Let’s work the room,’ Tod says. ‘We’ll see if we can get nearer to the Prince later.’
Still clinging to him, I trail in his wake as he approaches people we don’t even know and introduces us.
As the night wears on and the champagne starts to loosen my tongue, I find myself talking to other people who are just like me and have been helped by The Prince’s Trust to start their own business. I meet a woman who runs a small tea room, a young man with his own landscape gardening business and someone who designs funky stationery. I even find myself talking to the Ambassador for Nigeria about diamanté sparkles of all things.
Tod introduces me to a woman called Della, who I have a real laugh with as I tell her all about my business. She asks me to send her a sample handbag and slips me a business card. She’s from a PR agency, but I’ve never heard of it. They are all suitably impressed with my handbag.
Just as the evening is drawing to a close and my jaw is aching from smiling and my head is spinning from too much champagne, one of the footmen approaches us and ushers us towards Prince Charles. We stand in a short line and then I’m presented to His Royal Highness. I have no idea what he says or what I say back, but I shake his hand and I think I curtsy, even though I’m not sure if I’m supposed to. Before I have the chance to do anything else, I’m whisked away again.
‘Did
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