#30 CLARINS (UK) LTD.

Just a couple of weeks off of our adventures with Veuve Clicquot, another Frenchie joins the list of royal warrant holders: Clarins Ltd has held a Royal Warrant from Her Majesty the Queen since 2007 as “Manufacturers of Skin Care and Cosmetics.”

This past week my friend Jeannette and I made our way through the tangle of cosmetics counters at the State Street Macy’s in Chicago to visit the Clarins counter. We were in search of Clarins hand and nail treatment cream because I’d read that it is so popular with the Queen she sometimes sends her ladies-in-waiting out for emergency supplies of it. Under the Clarins banner, we were greeted by an insanely knowledgeable woman who was happy to talk about the company.

 Jeannette and I heard the usual sales spiel you might hear at a cosmetics/skin care counter in a department store: Our product is better than all the rest; these are the awards we’ve won recently; this product here is our bestseller—other women are buying it in droves and you should too; some of this stuff might seem expensive to you now, but in the future you’ll be glad you’ve been using it. She surprised us by adding that selling expensive cosmetics isn’t important to Clarins and that we could buy those anywhere—even at a drug store. If we're on a budget, we should focus on skin care and not cosmetics. We also liked that Clarins is plant-based and not tested on animals.

Next she gave us a miniscule sample of Clarins double serum, which (at $85 for a bottle) is expensive but excellent. Jeannette and I both bought $30 tubes of the hand and nail treatment cream.

 

 

The Clarins representative was a fountain of information about skincare, but I stopped her dead in her tracks when I mentioned that Clarins has a royal warrant from the Queen, which is essentially a royal seal of approval, and that I write a blog about such products.

She sort of took me in for a second before responding haltingly: “I didn’t know that. The royal family is, you know, definitely way up here (she held her hand above her head) when it comes to endorsements and recommendations and so on, but what we measure our products by are things like magazines.” She paused to show us a binder on the counter that contained several laminated articles from fashion magazines about Clarins’ double serum. “This is where we look for approval. Places like Allure and Elle and Vogue.”

Translation: Queen Elizabeth’s recommendation isn’t selling our products, honey.

Point taken, but the Queen is still purchasing Clarins in bulk. In addition to the hand and nail cream, every guest who stays at Buckingham Palace has Clarins toiletries and skin care products placed in their rooms.

Of course, not every guest to the palace is an invited one. In what was deemed a hugely embarrassing breach of palace security, 31-year-old Michael Fagan broke into the Queen’s bedroom at Buckingham Palace in July 1982. The Queen was asleep when a barefoot Fagan (he later admitted he’d lost his shoes on the roof after shimmying up a palace wall) opened the curtains to her bed to peak in at her. The startled Monarch talked calmly with Fagan for a full 10 minutes while she waited for her security to discover his presence. Finally, it was a footman who rescued her. Fagan was later admitted to a mental institution.

While the verdict on Fagan was pretty clear, I’m not sure I’ve reached my own about Clarins hand and nail cream. It’s so expensive that I’m rationing it and probably not using enough of it…but I don’t notice it doing much for my hands. Over time it promises to eliminate age spots, but I don’t have any now. It’s also supposed to be good for my cuticles but, as I type this, I spot a hangnail on my pinkie.

Where to Buy: Visit the store finder on Clarins’ website.

Of note: while Fagan probably never got any complimentary bath products from the palace, he claims he did get his shoes back. You can read the full version of a somewhat incredible interview he gave last year here.

#29 BENDICKS OF MAYFAIR LTD.

A few weeks ago my mom gave me—by way of a friend who had just traveled to Scotland—a box of Bendicks chocolate mints. I’d never heard of Bendicks before we started this project, and I had a hard time getting my hands on them here, so I couldn’t wait to dig in. Bendicks of Mayfair holds a royal warrant from Her Majesty the Queen as “Manufacturers of Chocolates.”

My box of Bendicks contained not only bittermints, which the packaging described as “the original and most famous Bendicks mint,” but also the rest of its mint collection: chocolate mint crisps, Victorian mints, and dark English mints. Here’s a simple note on each one from the packaging, just so everyone is caught up:

-Bittermints: “Firm fondant, with a powerful mint oil, enrobed in intense dark chocolate…”

-Chocolate mint crisps: “crisp honeycomb pieces in dark chocolate, flavoured with peppermint oil”

-Victorian mints: “dark chocolate with a soft peppermint fondant centre”

-Dark English mints: “dark chocolate baton infused with fresh English Black Mitcham peppermint oil”

 

 

 

The mint collection box intrigued me. There was something of a ritual to making your selection from the rows of brightly wrapped chocolates, neatly unwrapping it, and slowly savoring the taste. I picture British women of a certain age buying the mint collection and saving it for a visit from their children or grandchildren. “How about we all take a minute to have something sweet?” they’d offer after a couple of hours. It reminded me of my own childhood visits to elderly female relatives who would produce a half gallon of good ice cream or a little tin of fancy cookies even when we’d make an impromptu visit to their house. My sister and I would always wonder out loud, later, how does she keep from eating it herself? How does she save it for us?

I loved all of the mints in this box but the bittermints, which had a mint taste that was too strong. I found it impossible to swallow one without sneezing.

We’d just opened our Bendicks mint collection box when I left our house early one morning to run my first half marathon. I had nervously packed up half the house to somehow take along with me, just in case I needed it, when I spotted the mints. I toyed with the idea of slipping one into my back pocket, just in case. Maybe it would come in handy somehow during the race. The only thing that stopped me was realizing how hot it was outside.

I think the British royal family lives in a pretty constant state of survivor mentality. These people always need to have something in their back pockets, a trick up their sleeves just in case.

On May 20, 1974, Queen Elizabeth’s daughter, Princess Anne, was leaving a London film screening for Buckingham Palace with her husband and her bodyguard when a white Ford Escort swerved to block the Rolls Royce in which she was riding. The car’s driver, Ian Ball, then fired six shots that struck a journalist, a police officer, a passerby, and Anne’s bodyguard. Ball managed to get into the car briefly with the princess, but in the presence of so many witnesses he then left the car abruptly. He was later apprehended by a policeman.

At the time—and even years later—the royal family tried to laugh this incident off.  Anne is tough, they wanted everyone to know, and perhaps she is. But in an interview in the 1980s, after she again made joke of the seriousness of the whole incident, Anne faltered a little. Right around 6:30 in this video, Princess Anne’s husband says to her: “It never occurred to me that I might end up in that sort of situation. I think you had thought about it probably.”

Even though this interview seems way too flippant and glossy to capture what these people must have been feeling that day, there’s this rare moment of honesty where Anne acknowledges Mark's comment with a very sober facial expression and a little nod of her head. Of course she’s considered how dangerous it is to be the Queen’s daughter when the Queen has so many enemies. She must think about it all the time.

Perhaps long before the rest of us were thrust, really thrust, into the daily reality of terrorism, the British royal family knew all too well what a bitter mint it is to swallow.

Where to Buy: My mint collection came from Scotland, but you can also find these on Amazon.

Photo credit: The second photo above is courtesy of Theo Cohen, who photographed the 2013 Coronation Festival at Buckingham Palace.

#28 VEUVE CLICQUOT-PONSARDIN

Well, folks, it’s a boy…and I’m not just talking about the newest addition to the British royal family. This week marked not just the appearance of Prince George on July 22 but also my father-in-law’s birthday on the 25^th. Tonight we celebrated by uncorking a big bottle of some pretty fancy champagne. Veuve Clicquot-Ponsardin holds a royal warrant from her Majesty the Queen as “Purveyors of Champagne.”

The Clicquot champagne house was founded by Philippe Clicquot in 1772 in Reims, France. His 27 year-old widow (whose physical appearance I refuse to describe. I refuse; I refuse; I refuse. No!) took over the business in 1805, making her one of the first business women in modern times. She carried the brand to massive success, overseeing the house during the famous 1811 Comet Vintage and making advances that helped to modernize the production of champagne, thereby earning her the title “La Grande Dame” of Champagne. The brand is today known by its signature yellow label, which was trademarked in 1877.  

 

Veuve Clicquot (veuve means widow, by the way) is one of many French champagne houses holding a British royal warrant. Although the majority of the royal warrant holders are British businesses (or at least started that way), the champagne houses are a notable exception. You can’t make champagne in England, and if you’re entertaining as often as the royal family is, you need some expensive champagne.

I love champagne and sparkling wine and all drinks bubbly, so I couldn’t wait for my first foray into champagne. We opened our bottle, poured it into five dainty glasses, and all took a sip at the same time.

And it tasted terrible.
…

Was I not supposed to write that? Or, to go in a different direction: Am I missing something? Has my enjoyment of $12 moscato from Trader Joe’s ruined my ability to enjoy good champagne? I don’t think so. The taste was at first pretty smooth but then the finish was all acerbic and vinegary. Adam’s dad described it as “tinny,” and he cringed as he took a second drink. I started to wonder if maybe our bottle had gone bad. As I kept drinking it (of course I kept drinking it), it got better, but Adam’s brother made fun of me when I admitted that and mimicked me with slurred speech.

Hmm. I thought I’d dig into this a little deeper online, but I couldn’t find much when I Googled ‘Veuve Clicquot tastes bad’. I did find people calling it overpriced or suggesting it was overrated, but that’s about it.

According to VC’s website, their champagne is actually somewhat infamous for retaining its original flavor. In what the website terms “a miraculous Baltic Sea discovery in 2010,” bottles of 200 year-old Veuve Clicquot champagne were found in a shipwreck off the coast of Finland. It stresses that the bottles were “extremely well preserved” and “testament to the impeccable quality of our wines.” See—this stuff doesn’t go bad. We certainly didn’t dunk it into the bottom of the ocean or leave it for two centuries before drinking it. This brand has a fantastic history and is famous worldwide, but I don’t think it lives up to the hype.

I guess I’ll leave the last word to the birthday boy himself, Adam’s dad (if only because Prince George can’t talk yet): “I think this is the perfect champagne to use for christening a boat.”

Where to buy: This is widely available worldwide. In Chicago we’ve found it at Binny’s, Treasure Island, and Target.

CLANDESTINE CAKE CLUB

I first heard of Clandestine Cake Club one day at work. I was browsing NPR articles while eating my lunch and caught sight of a blog post titled “Why Britain Has Gone Mad About Baking.” My gut reaction was has Britain gone mad about baking? When?! The answers to those questions are: Yes and 2011.

Clandestine Cake Club was started by a retired British woman named Lynn Hill. She began a blog and website with this idea that she would personally facilitate strangers meeting together at secret locations to share cakes. NPR credits Hill (and the bad economy) with igniting a new national interest in baking. Hill has an informative website that shows a short documentary about CCC and pictures from recent gatherings. Looking at the photos, my mouth started to water. Depending on the size of your gathering, there are several cakes being passed around, and you can eat as much as you want. The sheer number of cakes and different bakers means there’s quite a lot of variety. It’s something of a cake buffet, which doesn’t really exist in the real world.

Immediately I started thinking about hosting a Clandestine Cake Club event at my house as an attempt to explore British culture for my blog. I pitched the idea to my friends, and they were very enthusiastic. They even looked the other way when I announced the incredibly strict rule that you have to bring a cake. You can’t bring brownies or muffins or pies or tarts or...in a sweepingly dramatic move...cupcakes. I didn’t really understand the need to be that strict about a dessert gathering, and most of my friends didn’t really understand it either. Maybe it’s a British thing. Anyway, we decided that at least the first time we’d play by the rules and all bake a cake.

I was sort of in awe as my friends marched into my dining room with their cakes a couple of weeks ago. There was a buttery raspberry summer cake with Haagen Daaz to go on the side (Beth: “I don’t care if bringing ice cream breaks one of the rules”); a chocolate peanut butter sheet cake with Reese’s pieces and peanut butter cups sprinkled on top, a tropical bundt with toasted coconut, and a moist lemon bundt. My friends had pushed aside their busy schedules to make these perfect little desserts because I asked them to. I was so touched by this. Even those that told me frankly they found the rules limiting and arbitrary had followed them so I could write this blog post about it.

Without planning it, we had such nice variety. I think we had all made a new recipe--something we’d wanted to try or thought sounded good but never brought to a potluck or made for a dinner party. That’s the great thing about a cake club meeting after all. If you’re on the fence about a recipe or worried that something will flop, it doesn’t really matter. Yours won’t be the only dessert. People can choose to eat your disaster cake or they cannot. My almond hazelnut gateaux (I thought I’d push the envelope and make a French cake) with a moussy chocolately filling was one I’d considered making for the past 10 years but had kept flipping past in my cookbook. It was a little bit dry for my taste...and a cake that was better paired with coffee at breakfast time than for dessert. Now I know that.

As much as we grumbled about Lynn Hill’s rules, we were religious in following her second one: everyone gets to take cake home. That’s the most fabulous part of Clandestine Cake Club. At the end, when the glasses of Pimm’s and lemonade and the cups of Twining’s have been drained, everyone divies up their leftovers. The next couple of mornings we woke up to a refrigerator full of cake, and Adam—who was initially insulted that I hadn't invited him to the club—stopped complaining.

Clandestine Cake Club is a worldwide phenomenon, but there aren’t too many chapters yet in the United States. I suspect that’s because there are so many rules, because most people with good sense are a little bit leery of going to a last-minute secret location to meet a bunch of strangers with baked goods. Even in inviting people I knew to come to my home for the event, I violated the whole clandestine principle of the club. The only thing clandestine about our meeting was that my kids didn’t know about it—and then that’s not true because Nicky woke up right before it began and refused to go back to sleep.

If my friends and I aren’t joining Lynn Hill’s official group we can’t call it a Clandestine Cake Club anymore; she has the name trademarked. We could call ours Cake Club, but then that still discriminates against desserts like cupcakes and brownies, and I don’t know if I agree with that. Of course then it’s a slippery slope from here. Soon the group will be getting together in sweat pants over break ’n bake cookies and pints of Ben & Jerry’s and maybe all of the nicety will be gone from it. But if I know my friends, attendance might even be higher given those standards.

To join a Clandestine Cake Club near you or to create your own, visit Hill’s website. For recipes, visit the Recipe section, Hill’s blog, or purchase the cookbook, which will finally be available in the States in August. You can pre-order here.

#27 H.P. BULMER LTD

 

One of my favorite things about my husband Adam is his “when in Rome” mentality when it comes to food and drink. It explains why we once sampled a really unfortunate Lebanese yogurt dessert called achta bil asul (sp?) at a tapas restaurant in Georgetown (Adam: “It doesn’t sound good, but I’ve never had it before. Have you?”); why we once dined at USA Steak Buffet in Washington, Pennsylvania where I overheard a man say to his son, who had a plate filled with nine pieces of Salisbury steak: “Boy, ain’t you hungry?”; why we dined on fried alligator once in Louisiana until Adam whispered the word “reptile” and the appetizer suddenly transformed into a rubbery blob in my mouth. On a much happier note, it explains why Adam was willing to try Strongbow cider when we visited England a couple of summers ago. Strongbow is made by H.P. Bulmer Ltd., which holds a Royal Warrant from Her Majesty the Queen as “Cider Makers.”

Adam and I aren’t beer drinkers. That’s not a popular statement anymore; everybody and their brother brews beer at home and speaks fluently this language of “stouts,” “lagers,” and “IPA’s.” Cider is beer-ish, I’ll give you that, but in its aftertaste it departs from the bitterness of beer and veers towards the sweet familiarity of apple. Adam and I were sold on it the second we tasted it in a little English pub a few kilometers from Heathrow. For someone as stubbornly opposed to beer as he used to be, this change of heart is impressive.

I think there’s a pretty large segment of the American population that has never even tried hard cider. While you’ll rarely see it advertised here, I easily found several British advertisements (and here). In the U.S., cider sales make up less than 1% of total beer sales, but in the UK, 45% of all apples grown there are used to make cider. Of that huge market, Bulmer's makes 65% of the cider sold annually.

According to a Wall Street Journal article published last summer, beer producer Heineken (which now owns Bulmer’s in the UK) has taken over distribution of Strongbow within the United States. Previously it was imported and distributed by the Vermont Hard Cider Company, maker of Woodchuck cider—which sits at the #1 spot in the U.S. Strongbow is #2. There are some incredibly surprising little tidbits in the WSJ article. For one, sales of beer in the U.S. have been declining in the past three years. Second: cider drinking is evenly split among men and women in the U.S. (I had assumed a large female majority). Third: hard cider fell out of favor in this country in the 19^th century when it was overtaken by beer, but recently it’s shown a resurgence in popularity. Sales are way up.

Queen Elizabeth II granted Bulmer’s a Royal Warrant in 1955 but—like many of these warrants—I’ve wondered when she ever has time to kick up her heels and drink a glass. That said, just this week the British press sharpened its focus on the royal family, speculating about the Queen’s unusual opening speech to Parliament. There were two oddities at this year’s event: Prince Charles was present with his wife Camilla even though he hasn’t attended an opening in 17 years…and the Queen failed to announce her upcoming travel plans on behalf of the State, as she usually does. Seemingly the 87 year-old monarch is beginning to limit her role, and her son is making plans to fill her shoes. Will the Queen leave the throne before her death or simply trust Prince Charles to take over more of her responsibilities as she ages? Stay tuned. Let’s hope she’s able to rest and take care of herself in these last years she’ll serve as monarch.

Where to buy: The best Strongbow you’ll ever drink will be one you buy on tap and drink in a British pub. Short of that, the bottled variety tastes a little better than the canned if you buy it stateside. If you’re in Chicago, you can get one out at English.

#26 WAITROSE LTD

One of the difficult things about writing about the British royal family is that the story is ongoing and actively changing. Last week I was all prepared to write about another warrant holder and then Margaret Thatcher had to go and die. We certainly can’t ignore her death, especially when her relationship with the royal family—and most especially with Queen Elizabeth—was such a fascinating one. At first it was something of a challenge to tie Thatcher into a blog about products that hold a Royal Warrant, but then I remembered her father’s oft-touted occupation. He was a grocer. Waitrose Ltd. holds warrants from both the Queen and the Prince of Wales as “Grocers and Wine & Spirit Merchants.”

Waitrose is somewhat interesting among the Royal Warrant holders. It’s a place anyone in the UK has easy access to, which isn't true of some of the fancier shops and purveyors on this list. The company dates back to a small grocery shop called Waite, Rose & Taylor that opened in West London in 1904. It was acquired by the John Lewis Partnership, its current owner, in 1937 and the first Waitrose grocery store opened in 1955. Today the store’s 280 branches are seen as upscale but not inaccessible.

Of all of the obituaries and editorials I read in the British press after Maggie’s death, the most interesting one (to me) was written by Andrew Marr in the Daily Beast. He delved into the sometimes tumultuous relationship between the Iron Lady and the Queen, centering one of his anecdotes on a barbecue. 

Marr starts right off by calling the relationship between the Queen and Thatcher “difficult.” They were just so different. Thatcher was the ultra-conservative daughter of a British shop owner who had worked hard to make a name for herself in British politics by the late 1970s. As she swept into office, Thatcher brought with her reform-minded supporters who were distrustful of the monarchy and tired of the way things had always been done. Queen Elizabeth’s life had always been marked by privilege and wealth. By being a member of the royal family she found herself the target of a political movement that detested the gluttony of the monarchy. One can only imagine the depth of Queen Elizabeth’s feelings toward Thatcher and her political ideals (the Queen’s job is to remain Switzerland on politics, but it’s widely believed she leans to the left). Despite this uneasiness, Thatcher was incredibly respectful of the Queen—even to a fault, argues Marr.

He describes a barbecue that took place at Balmoral, the royal family’s Scottish home away from Buckingham Palace. The barbecue was offered as a solution to a somewhat bizarre problem that presented itself when Thatcher came into office. England had long been led by male prime ministers and male kings. After a fancy royal dinner, the men would adjourn to one room to talk politics, the women to another to talk about more frivolous things. With both the Queen and Thatcher holding the highest offices in England, the social setting became awkward. Who should talk to whom? Who should sit where? It was decided that an outdoor barbecue would be such a casual setting that it wouldn’t be necessary to separate into groups based on gender. Everyone could mingle.

It goes without saying that Sheryl Sandberg would have a field day with this one, but let’s push past the obvious sexism here and focus on the decidedly more trite concept of an English barbecue. Is this a thing? I didn’t think this was a thing. Americans barbecue. This is our thing. The British wouldn't even know where to begin, right?

When I researched this on GoogleUK I found out that a.) I am wrong and the English are actually really into barbecuing and b.) the term “english barbecue” has a meaning of its own. Urban Dictionary defines it as such:

The English BBQ normally takes place in wet or threatening weather condition. He, the man of the house, shows his family how to light the BBQ using several pints of high octane fuel. He then cooks chicken drumsticks that are black on the outside and still bleeding in the middle. Sausages are also black on the outside while being raw in the middle.

What's funny about this stereotype is that Marr describes the exact same scenario in his story. On the typical second night of the prime minister’s visit to Balmoral, Prince Philip himself would prepare a barbecue meal for everyone in attendance. The meat would be “’a beautifully cooked but very rare piece of beef...which didn’t suit Margaret at all, she hated rare meat.’” Surprisingly, the Queen would busily work alongside Philip. An anxious and ever-ready to please Thatcher couldn’t stand being waited on by a monarch and would annoy the Queen by constantly offering to help. As Marr explains: 

Once, as the Queen handed around and then gathered in plates, Mrs. Thatcher, upset to see her monarch doing a menial job unaided, kept trying to stand up and help. Eventually the Queen hissed: "Will somebody tell that woman to sit down?"

The story seems emblematic of their relationship: a prime minister with a strong sense of authority and deference only trying to help, and a Queen who could neither figure out how to relate to her or how to help feeling irritated by her.

I couldn’t help feeling irritated as I tried to convert a British barbecue sauce recipe I found on waitrose.com to one I could make in my own kitchen. I was thrilled to find this recipe used other Royal Warrant products like Coleman’s mustard powder, Lea & Perrins worcestershire sauce, and Tate & Lyle’s golden syrup. Still, there was a little bit of trial and error as I tried to substitute tomato sauce for Soffrito Passata and brown sugar for demerara sugar. At times I would have given anything to have Margaret Thatcher helping me barbecue, even if she was a Conservative. 

Where to buy: If you live in the UK, Waitrose has 280 branches for you to visit. If you live in the States, you’re probably limited to cooking recipes from the website and hoping you can one day experience Waitrose in person. Hopefully we can all be so lucky to skip down those aisles soon, as Kate Middleton sometimes does.

The Waitrose photo at the top of this post was taken by John Phillips.

Barbecue Sauce/Marinade adapted from waitrose.com

1/2 tsp. ground ginger
1/2 tsp. mustard powder
1/2 tsp. paprika
1 T olive oil
1 shallot, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, chopped
15 oz. can tomato sauce
1/4 cup apple cider vinegar
3/4 cup brown sugar
2 T worcestershire sauce
2 T golden syrup
1/4 cup orange juice
salt and freshly ground black pepper
4 boneless skinless chicken breasts

Directions:

Over medium high heat, cook shallot in olive oil until carmelized. Add tomato sauce and garlic and cook for another five minutes before adding ginger, mustard powder, paprika, vinegar, sugar, worcestershire sauce, and golden syrup. Cook for another five minutes, then add orange juice, salt, and pepper to taste. Allow sauce to cool completely.

Pour about 2/3 of the barbecue sauce into a gallon-size freezer bag and add the chicken. Refrigerate for at least one hour and up to 24 hours.

Grill chicken breasts until cooked through, brushing every 2-3 minutes with reserved sauce.

Oops

I just saw an update on Facebook from Queen Elizabeth's Fan Club that today is her 87th birthday. I will admit to you right now, without hesitation, that I had completely forgotten this.

I knew this was her birthday, deep down. This morning I even thought about this date (April 21st) and thought...something important happened today...but what? I'd been thinking about it for awhile even and wondering what the blog should do in honor of the day. The fact that I then forgot about it is testament to...my busy life? How bad of a blogger I am? The fact that I should give up this project that sometimes seems like such a chore?

I just collapsed into an afternoon nap with a heavy sense of failure. I wish my life weren't so hectic. I wish I had time for all of the things I want to do and that not so much of my day was devoted to picking Cheerios up off the floor and convincing little ones to go to sleep at night, to not wake up at quarter til 5 in the morning. I also wished this past week hadn't been filled with such terrible distractions: the bombing of the Boston marathon; the industrial explosion in the small town of West, Texas; the violent manhunt in Greater Boston; and the anniversaries of American tragedies like the Oklahoma City bombing. We also celebrated Nicholas's first birthday but not without remembering how scary it was for him to be born at 34 weeks last year and to then spend three long weeks in the NICU before he could come home. This has been such a surreal week.

In 1992, after the very public collapse of Prince Charles's marriage to Princess Diana and after a fire destroyed much of her beloved Windsor Castle, Queen Elizabeth spoke candidly to the English people (or as candid as you can be when speaking in Latin):

"1992 is not a year on which I shall look back with undiluted pleasure. In the words of one of my more sympathetic correspondents, it has turned out to be an Annus horribilis."

For Queen Elizabeth, this is about as personal as a public speech has ever gotten. She admitted not only personal sadness but also personal humilitation. She showed herself to be human. This sentiment can sum up this past week so well too. It's not one on which my country can possibly look back with undiluted pleasure. It's just been a horrible week.

On this day, her official birthday (in England her birthday will be celebrated later in June when the weather is better, and I can relate to that too!) let's hope the Queen can look back on the past year as an Annus mirabilis. Let's hope the same for the year ahead.

God save the Queen. (And God help me get through the rest of this busy day).