Em, you know the Royals aren’t the underdogs, right?

I’m largely ambivalent about the Royal Family as a collection of human beings, but none-the-less wish them every health and happiness. I just wish they’d pursue health and happiness on their own time and (if I can be excused an Americanism) dime. Part of me can’t believe that we still have things like royal families in this supposedly more enlightened age. I guess privilege is a hard thing to give up, for its flag-waving worshippers as much as those weaned on it.

Despite this ambivalence my last two posts have been reasonably brutal, very childish and none-too-subtle send-ups of the monarchy and Harry’s wedding, shot through with a cold, caustic, all-consuming anger. I’ve been thinking about this, and I’m certain that my anger is a reaction to the Royals being cast in the twin roles of saviours and victims, in the newspapers and on social media respectively. For the Royals are clearly poor, noble souls who shouldn’t have to put up with mean-spirited criticisms and name-calling from us proles when all they’re trying to do is inspire us with their diamond-studded benevolence.

Again, I don’t hate any of the Royals individually, but I do hate political, social and economic systems that encourage the veneration of inherited wealth at the expense of compassion. I also hate viral posts like the one below, one of scores I came across in the run up to Harry’s big day:

This sort of thing acts as kerosene upon my anger and indignation.

In a nutshell, the man above would rather help finance a Royal wedding than continue to support free healthcare provisions for Kelly-Anne’s children. He doesn’t elaborate too much on Kelly-Anne’s socio-economic position, but I’d wager she’s a stand-in for poor single mothers everywhere. We all know the short-hand. We’re all used to hearing the beat of that particular drum. Beat, beat, beat, down upon the heads of the poorest and most vulnerable among us.

Michael’s a military man, so I can understand why he would be ready to praise (what he perceives as) Prince Harry’s valour; why he’d want to gravitate towards people who’d endured some of the same extraordinary life experiences. The sharp end of the military must give soldiers such a powerful sense of symbiosis that once it’s taken away it must make society appear in contrast a dark, lonely, incomprehensible place.

In any case, whether the Prince’s presence in Afghanistan was part of a risky PR stunt orchestrated by Clarence House to raise the Royals’ profile among serving soldiers and those who support them, or whether it stemmed from Harry’s genuine desire to break with modern tradition and serve on the front line, there’s no doubt that it takes great reserves of bravery to enter a combat zone. I certainly don’t possess such bravery, and have no desire ever to acquire it, for reasons of not wanting my bollocks shot off.

But to suggest that Prince Harry’s brief stint in Afghanistan somehow makes him a better, braver, more worthy human being, not just more worthy than Kelly-Anne, but more worthy than all those actively serving in the military (after all, why isn’t our tax money paying for their weddings?) is elite-scented jingoism at its finest.

How many times has it been implied that while the dynastic millionaires deserve our sympathy and support for having been born into the thankless ranks of privilege, the disadvantaged have only themselves to blame for squandering their opportunities and not making the most out of life? This sort of deeply conservative thinking presupposes a level-playing field, something that has never existed in our societies, and perhaps never will, certainly as long as this deeply unsettling world-view persists.

Whether it sprouts from naïve aspiration or deluded arrogance, a lot of middle-and-low-income royalists profess a greater kinship with the 1%  than those suffering a rung or two below them on the socio-economic ladder. The reality is that the vast majority of people – those who weren’t birthed on to an ever-unfolding red carpet of privilege – are only ever one bad day away from losing everything.

The newspapers’ propaganda doesn’t help. They promulgate a yin and yang view which sees the elite venerated and the poor condemned. The tabloids, which claim to serve the interests of the working classes, are usually owned by billionaires and staffed by the affluent middle-classes, a cross-class collusion that keeps the ‘lower’ classes at each other’s throats.

Bluntly, the Royal Family neither needs nor deserves our protection from criticism. And it certainly doesn’t need – or deserve – our money.

However we feel about ourselves, or the Harrys and Elizabeths and Kelly-Annes of this world, we must never forget the direction in which our sympathy and compassion should always travel: everywhere.

But especially sideways.

And down.

Cunt of the Week (02 July 2012) by Euan Meikle

Greetings fellow citizens. When Jamie asked me to nominate a Cunt Of The Week, I had to think long and hard (two words not normally found in the same sentence as Jamie Andrew). This world has a plethora of ‘see you hen teas’ to choose from, names such as Jeremy Clarkson, George Osbourne and Pastor Fred Phelps all came to mind as being worthy of weekly cunthood. However, I decided not to waste time venting bile on such small fry and so have opted to line up her Majesty the Queen in my crosshairs (metaphorically speaking, of course, as no doubt MI5 are taking notes).

Firstly, I want to state that I don’t believe Elizabeth Windsor, an 84 year old granny, who no doubt loves her friends, family and corgis, is a particularly bad person. She’s certainly not up there with Hitler, Freddy Krueger or whoever came up with the Go Compare adverts. My beef is with this imaginary entity that centuries of tradition and ritual, pomp and circumstance have created: The Queen.

It gets my goat that in the 21st century a perfectly ordinary woman, with the standard number of heads, legs and genitals, is somehow perceived as superior to the rest of us purely because some of her very distant ancestors won a few battles. Since Tharg hit Zog over the head with a club in order to steal his woolly mammoth burger, humans have always tended towards hierarchies of some sort. However, in this day and age, surely our leaders ought to have to earn the power, respect and fancy hats that come with the position.

The weirdness of the whole concept is best summed up by taking a look at ‘God Save the Queen’ (the original, not the Sex Pistols’ song). I’m not even going to go into the offensive verses about ‘rebellious Scots to crush’, and ‘beating up Welshmen who look at you a bit funny.’

This song is essentially a request that God, who made the whole universe and all of time and space and reality, take time out from his busy schedule to take a personal interest in the health and well-being of this one, wee old lady. Later verses get even more surreal, imploring the almighty to rescue her from any potential assassins, and even interfere in the politics of rival nations. One can imagine God sitting on a cloud somewhere, thinking: ‘Well, I really ought to do something about cancer, and the whole Syria situation is getting a bit sketchy, but my top priority has to be showering my choicest gifts on Lizzy and confounding the knavish tricks of the French.’

Unfortunately it seems we’re going to be stuck with the royals for some time yet, barring them being outed as giant lizards from another planet. Just remember, as Johnny Rotten once sang: ‘those tourists are money.’

THIS WEEK’S GUEST WRITER: Euan Meikle was the first man in western Europe to successfully have full sexual intercourse with a musk ox. Ironically, given his hatred for the title, The Queen wanted to recognise this feat and give Euan a Knighthood for ‘Services to Extraordinary Acts of Beastiality.’ Euan now lives in Stirling, Scotland, with the musk ox, and their three children. He spends his time making the kind of music they play in Guantanamo Bay to get the terrorists to confess, and you can listen to it in all of its electronic glory, here:  http://soundcloud.com/yuan-mekong.

FOLLOW EUAN ON TWITTER: You can’t: he isn’t on Twitter, the technophobic slag.