On the Pantiles, formerly the Royal Parade, in the spa town of Royal Tunbridge Wells, the build-up to the coronation is being shown live on a huge screen. Even though it’s raining, people in historical garb are trying to flog mineral water from the town’s famous natural chalybeate spring. You can’t move for bunting, cake, quiche and town criers. There’s even a coronation colour-in.
In the shopping centre at the other end of town it’s noticeably more roundhead than cavalier. “Are you about to rush home to watch the first coronation of our lifetimes?,” I ask Deirdre and Eddy, who are both in their fifties and enjoying early retirement from the Royal Mail. “No,” says Eddy, a little sheepish, “but we’re going to an afternoon
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