“The Royal Baby will be styled Princess X of Cambridge.”
BBC Radio Cambridgeshire
And so the Nation rejoices. Not for the snooker, which winds up this Monday. Certainly not for the Test Match. Not even for the Bank Holiday which I hear rumours of. No. The Nation rejoices because there is a new princess in the land.
And not just any princess. The Princess of Cambridge, no less. We have not had a princess of Cambridge since Princess Mary Adelaide Wilhelmina Elizabeth of Cambridge, born in 1833 to Adolphus, Duke of Cambridge and Princess Augusta of Hesse-Cassel. Her sister Princess Augusta, born in 1822, was also a princess of Cambridge. So it was about time.
The Royal whelp will for the time being be known as Her Royal Highness, Princess X of Cambridge, I hear on the radio, which is a pretty impressive title when you have just been born. I would love to think that they will stick with the ‘X’. A Princess X would mark a return to relevance in our comic-book media age, or a frank acknowledgement of irrelevance, I can’t decide which.
The nation is not really rejoicing of course, despite what the media and a few lunatics in front of the hospital would have us believe. Rejoicing royalists are one of those categories, like revellers and motorists, who only really come into existence when refracted through the spinning prism of the media. I used to entertain a hope that one day the world would no longer, for example, defer to a child born into ridiculous and wholly unmerited privilege, but realise now that it is all part of the churning carnival of news, along with the snooker and the Test Match; and while, consistent with the carnivalesque, no deference is implied, neither is revolution. Princess ‘X’ of Cambridge can sleep easy in her cot.