60 years ago on 6 February a young woman accepted a family responsibility and became Queen (regent until coronation) of England – and a whole lot more besides. Imagine starting a new job as a young wife and mother, and the terms of employment were for life. That was all the fault of her rascally uncle Edward who decided being with his Popsy (as PG Woodhouse would put it) was better than being King.
The rest of us make plans for retirement from formal employment. We now and then change job. We (and our families) can have ups and downs in our personal lives without them being in the media. And of course the boring and nasty types she is expected to entertain on behalf of her country. I think the sheer rigidity of her life would have had me gnawing at my wrists on a regular basis.
There are compensations, money, travel, meeting some interesting people. But then everyone wants to know what she spends her money on, her trips usually involve appearing for the media, meeting people who will never become friends, and who won’t even have an interesting conversation over a cup of coffee with her. Having a huge section of the wilds of Scotland as her family’s own to roam about in beautiful rather stark nature. (Of course it’s too cold for them all to romp around starkers.)
And of course she can request who she wants for a concert once a year. That could have some aspects of fun to it.
All in all, I think I can say to her “well done, you held together where I would have collapsed. Now the next target is to reign for longer than Victoria, then who knows?”