breitling watches

It is the 60th anniversary of Elizabeth II's coronation on Sunday, which was preceded by the news that Mount Everest had been "conquered" by a British team. In fact, Tenzing Norgay was a Nepalese Indian Sherpa and Edmund Hillary was a New Zealander, but this was close enough. It was a serendipity I like, because both coronation and ascent of the impossible mountain were, in their ways, Freudian daydreams that imagined an ecstatic national unity that was entirely false and utterly pointless. Laurence Olivier narrated the film of the coronation, and nothing could have felt more impressive, or more staged.

These are bad times for republicans. The last three years have been full of royal pageantry – an invocation of a reactionary past where a pretty duchess who has done nothing but marry and conceive is called the face of modern femininity. Elites harden and grow more wealthy and remote, watching the jubilee flotilla from their private perches, either bought or lobbied for. The alienation of elected politicians from voters makes the very air seem dangerous. That Maxima, the new queen of Holland, was crowned last month wearing what looked like the Miss World crown is the only amusing thing about this monarchical resurgence. But aristocrats know they have to endure being laughed at, and I do not think they mind. The benefits are obvious to them.

The royal wedding and the diamond jubilee were, respectively, a drunken "fairytale", and a thank-you so overwrought it gave Elizabeth II's husband cystitis – ladies and gentleman of the press, prepare your headlines. The anniversary of the coronation is more fascinating than either, because it exposes the most ancient roots of monarchy, a childlike need for gods and intercession, when I hoped we had done with both.

The film of the coronation service was re-released in cinemas last year. I sat in the darkness and watched it. I was riveted neither by the peers and their ladies, shouting allegiance in furs, nor by the young Princess Margaret's almost pornographic beauty and obvious unhappiness. It was the monarch's status as holy intercessor between God and commoner; as sacrificial victim; as human font. (As jewellery model?) On Coronation Day the Times wrote: "The Queen stands for the soul as well as the body of the Commonwealth. In her is incarnate ... the whole of society ... she represents the life of her people." Does she? Does she really? And can we not do better?

Perhaps because the answer is so obviously yes, or because the palace PR professionals think a third year of pomp in a recession would be vulgar, this particular anniversary is fairly downbeat. There will be a service at Westminster Abbey, and a Coronation festival in the grounds of Buckingham Palace to advertise the wares of royal warrant holders, because the most popular apology for monarchy these days is that it "sells Britain" – yes it does, and as what?

It is the BBC which will make the most fuss, and this is interesting for those who call the BBC progressive, and not as a compliment. On Monday it screens the documentary The Queen: A Passion for Horses; one excited newspaper announced it with the headline "Queen Rides to Feel Human" which, if true, entirely supports my point. Perhaps we should reinstitute the ancient royal custom of washing feet? She would do it, I think, if they were hooves.

This will be nothing to the anniversary coverage of the Tory press, which, as the death of Margaret Thatcher demonstrated, loves nothing better than a demi-god – except perhaps two demi-gods. Last Thursday the Telegraph noted that the Duke and Duchess of Cornwall tried to fly to Hay-on-Wye to open the literary festival, but their helicopter broke. So they drove there in a car, and this, according to the Telegraph, was miraculous.

It is not so much what monarchy does that offends me, but what it does not do. It does not tell us that we are free and equal, and that any child born can do anything; in this, it is far more reactionary than Christianity. Instead it tells us, as it always has, that our places in society are ordained by an invisible God, and we should know them. If she is above, we can only be below – is this why conservatives adore it, it being so like a profitable business? And, to distract us, there is old patriotic nonsense: reach for the stars, children, and ignore the mud, even as it chokes you. All this will be remembered on Sunday.