It's not exactly in keeping with my progressive, social justice wannabe status, but here it is: I love the British monarchy.

Every time OK! Magazine has the Royal Family on the cover, I devour each glossy page. If a documentary is aired on television, you can bet I'm watching it. The more pomp and circumstance, the better. I have Big Opinions about Fergie, Autumn Phillips (a Canadian! in the Royal Family!), succession planning, and our constitutional monarchy.

When Prince William married Catherine Middleton, my American husband was of the opinion that we had all gone mildly crazy. I loaded my bag with my best English teas, and picked up a half dozen pink cupcakes. My sister brought along the delicate old-fashioned "company china" she had inherited from her husband's Great-Auntie Toots. My eldest daughter and my mother had a dress-up party, roping themselves in pearls, teetering in high heels, peering out from under the edges of wide brimmed hats. Then we sat in my parents' basement, all of us, to watch the entirety of CBC's Royal Wedding coverage, from start to finish. And it was brilliant.

So, of course, the Diamond Jubilee celebration marking the 60-year reign of Her Royal Majesty Queen Elizabeth II is a smorgasbord of pageantry goodness for someone like me. While it would be easy during this celebration to turn her public persona into a caricature of tiaras and Corgis, there is something deeper.

My interest in (okay, fine, obsession with …) the Royal Family has its roots in my growing up years here in Canada. Like most Commonwealth kids of the 70s and 80s, I was caught up in the height of the Princess Diana fervor. We adored our Princess Diana. (See also: I loathed Prince Charles with a deadly loathing. I'm trying ...

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