A royal appointment one would rather avoid One should have learnt, after 86 years, not to get one's hopes up. Instead, they handed over a chunk of Antarctica. It's better than an iPad, but honestly - the last prime minister this spivvy made great-great-granny Empress of India. A few measly penguins and a billion tons of ice doesn't really compare. One can't even cut off a slice and put it in one's gin. It was only when they got on to the proper agenda that one really wished one had kept those earplugs from the Jubilee concert. There was an update from Sir George Young on the parliamentary mood, which boiled down to "everyone hates us." Then a discussion of Afghanistan, which boiled down to "everyone hates us." Then a chat about the economy, which boiled down to "everyone hates us." Just you wait, one thought, looking at the well-fed faces and remembering how poor Jim Callaghan and Edward Heath looked by the end. But one held one's tongue, as per. It was quite interesting, one must admit, to see how coalition works. Apparently, it means that the gormless chap in the yellow tie gets to moan about everyone else. "And another thing," he said. You can't just write off my idea to cut benefits for wealthy pensioners. It's utterly unfair that some of the country's richest people get all manner of goodies from the state. Someone coughed, pointedly. "No, do go on, Deputy Prime Minister," one said, sweetly. But he seemed to have been struck by a fit of shyness. The same thing happened to the Chancellor when one asked him how the deficit reduction strategy was going; one caught a muffled snigger from further down the table. One got the sense that some of them would have used rather fruitier language in private: the Business Secretary certainly seemed to be biting his lip and looking murderous, though apparently he always looks like that. It's rather silly of them, really - as if one hasn't heard all manner of language down at the stables, or when Philip sees one of those wind turbines. But one must let them keep their illusions. All told, it wasn't a complete waste of time. Apart from some occasional tremors at the table, which one worried might be caused by fracking, but turned out to be Mr Pickles reaching for another biscuit, it was rather nice to have them kowtowing so vigorously. Plus, one finally got to say one's piece about shortening the State Opening. They're so proud of their little initiatives, but by this stage, one's promised to fix the NHS, transform the rail system, cut bureaucracy, overhaul benefits and stimulate entrepreneurship so many times one's lost count. And none of it - so far as one can see - has made a blind bit of difference. Anyway, as one said, one must let them keep their illusions - just as one's apparently going to have to keep those dratted placemats. One just hopes they don't use them as an excuse to come round for a return visit.