The heads that wear crowns have definitely been uneasy this weekend. I very much doubt that much gentle sleep, even with all appliances and means to boot, has come their way. With the abolition of Divine Right it can’t be much fun to be a King ( for King read Queen if you’re a girl, or if you’re a Queen) particularly if it’s cold and raining and your subjects have got into party mood and want you to come out to play. One look out the window and I’d have let them eat cake, as much cake as it took to keep me in the warmth of my palace and away from the bloody Tower. Heading down river, as Anne Boleyn once memorably said, often ends badly and ruling the waves entails having a right arm with a life of its own.The events that mistily unfolded on Saturday convinced me that being a Royalist is fine, but that being a Royal would be to have chosen the very shortest of straws. My wife and I managed to retain the divine right to sit in the sun and contemplate until normal service is resumed.