And so we come to the end of a day. A momentous day. Almost more than momentous. Almost a day that can't be described using the English language, or in fact any language that has words. Because words are out of their depth today. Words are embarrassing themselves. Words have massive holes in their pants. We should all stop talking, writing etc. The very act of communication has been shown up for the fraud that it is. Consciousness itself, guilty of being wholly unprepared by the solemnity, the pageantry, the commitment to service, we have been a witness to. The sword held single-handedly by an empress MP Mordaunt, wrapped in a wizards cloak. The sword put down and picked-up again and then put down and then passed across and then paid for and then picked up again. I don't know where the sword's gone? We should find the sword. No more "Queen's Consort". Now just "Queen", like the band. Prince Harry was there, placed carefully behind the hat of Princ
Contains mild peril