Not tonight

I am not writing a diary tonight.

I have occupied the whole evening being sad, and now somehow there is no time left. I am writing this in bed.

The Queen is dead, and we cried on the taxi rank. I listened to the BBC announcer telling us, and playing the National Anthem, and the voice which says We Interrupt This Programme, as if it was a film about things happening in the nineteen fifties.

She was the best Queen in the world ever, and she has gone.

I know King Charles will be just splendid, but it is still the saddest thing. I do not even want to think that there has got to be a funeral, and  we will have to watch her poor grieving family walking slowly behind her through the streets of London.

There will be new coins, and new stamps, and the National Anthem must already be God Save The King

She will not live to come and see me graduate and she has not managed to outlive Roger Poopy’s tiresome father.

There is nothing else to say about today. It is just sad.