This Saturday at 10.20am, all eyes will be on King Charles and Camilla as they travel the 1.3 miles from Buckingham Palace to Westminster Abbey in their £1.5m Diamond jubilee state coach. That’s roughly a £10 ride in an Uber. At 1pm, they will return to Buckingham Palace in their £3.5m gold state coach, again drawn by six Windsor Grey horses. There they will appear on the balcony for a ceremonial flypast. Or, if you prefer, Channel 4 is showing Frasier, Johnny English Strikes Again and Formula E.
What does it feel like knowing half of the world will be settling down with their prosecco and Pringles to gawp at you? There would have to be an administrative error of cataclysmic proportions for me to be accidentally crowned king, or even to share part of the big day with him. But I can find out what it’s like to be part of the royal fuss. Bafta-winning film-maker, artist and photographer Alison Jackson – famous for shooting a fake Diana flicking the Vs, a fake Queen drinking tea in bed and a fake Donald Trump partying with the KKK – has organised a phoney coronation complete with Charles and Camilla lookalikes and horse-drawn carriage. And it turns out that she needs a footman to open carriage doors and light Camilla’s fags. What can possibly go wrong?
11am: Grove Gallery, Mayfair
Arriving at the home of Jackson’s latest exhibition, featuring Camilla in her underwear, Harry and Wills wrestling and Kate and Meghan catfighting. I change into my footman’s uniform of flouncy white shirt, red jacket, top hat and (breathe in) worryingly snug pantaloons. I find an excited Jackson and her Camilla – 81-year-old ex-nurse Wendy Crawley – chatting about how even lookalikes attract the paparazzi.
“I was outside the hospital when some of the babies were born,” says Wendy, referring to Kate and William’s children George, Charlotte and Louis and Harry and Meghan’s Archie and Lilibet. “The paparazzi thought: Camilla’s here, waiting for the grandchildren to be born. It was lovely. I felt as if I was really waiting for my grandchildren to arrive.”
Wendy has two children and four grandchildren of her own. What do they make of their regal mother/grandmother? She tells me how she was shooting with her Charles lookalike on the steps of the Ritz, where Charles and Camilla had first been seen out together in public. “There were paparazzi from all over the world. When I got into the car, they tried to photograph up my skirt! My son-in-law heard it on the radio and said to my daughter: ‘What’s your mother been up to now?’ So that’s what they think of me.”
“How do I address you, Your Majesty?” I ask. I need to know if I’m her royal footman for the day. “Camilla. I don’t like titles,” says Wendy, sharing the real queen consort’s views. “Have you practised your bowing?” asks Jackson. I attempt my best curtsy: “Ma’am.” Oof. That’s not easy on the pantaloons.
Royal buzz: two crowns out of five
Noon: pick up the king
It’s a quick taxi ride to meet our coachmen, 46-year-old Danny Baker and 17-year-old son Frankie, and horses Merlin, 16, and King, 17. “When I was a child, the milkmen were on horses!” Wendy says delightedly. “You’d walk behind, pick up the poo and take it home to put on the roses. Everything’s different now. I’m worried about AI now, to be honest.”
I help the queen into her carriage, but there’s still no sign of Charles. This causes Wendy to sing: “The king was in the counting-house, counting out his money. The queen was in the parlour, eating bread and honey …” I find the royal rascal having a crafty fag behind the bus stop. Our king is 62-year-old lookalike Guy Ingle. And boy, does he look and sound the real McCharlie. He snaps into his best “how marvellous” and “what do you do?” to entertain the gathering crowds.
I help the king aboard as Jackson clambers on to the back of a motorbike, and we all get into full character. No more Guy and Wendy. It’s Charles and Camilla from now on. “Oi, Camilla! Where are your Rothmans?” shouts one punter. “Camilla hasn’t smoked for 15 years,” says Camilla.
Before we know it, we’re interviewed for ITV, German and Japanese TV. “Doesn’t she look absolutely ravishing, my darling wife?” says Charles. “At least it’s not raining,” says Camilla.
Royal buzz: three
1:30pm: off to the palace
Jackson has already told me off for laughing. “I know you’re a writer, but today you are an actor. So bloody well act.” A footman traditionally stands on the back step, but this carriage hasn’t got one. I jump inside to crash a lift with Charlie and Queenie. Shotgun!
Charles is giving me the giggles, so I recompose with my best vacant middle-distance stare. Cars beep and crowds applaud as the pair wave to their public – Camilla to everybody (“I just like waving,” she says), and Charles when he thinks the cameras are looking. Flanked by an army of motorcycles, the journey down Buckingham Palace Road is surreal. It’s so convincing, even I’m beginning to wonder if it’s genuine. Although I’m not sure I remember King Charles being this fruity …
“I was going down the Mall in a horse-drawn carriage with Mother and Ronald Reagan,” he chuckles. “One of the horses had a bout of flatulence that went on for two minutes. Mother – her manners impeccable – turned and said: ‘Mr Reagan, I do beg your pardon.’ He said: ‘You should have kept quiet, ma’am. I thought it was the horse.”
Have Charles and Camilla known each other long? “Twenty years, haven’t we darling? I’m 62 and the old girl’s 81,” says Charles. “I’m old enough to be his mother,” says Camilla. Business is booming. The pair have filmed adverts for everything from recipe boxes to luxury chocolate bars, and are due to guest on Good Morning Britain.
Do they study their royal namesakes? “I’ve got every book, video, the whole bloody lot,” says Charles. “I don’t,” says Camilla. “People think I’m Camilla walking around.” “Yes, but you’re not acting, are you, my love?”
The pair are like a bickering married couple. Do they kiss in public? “Just this,” says Charles, kissing Camilla’s hand. Charles has met the real king. “At a polo match, years ago. He said: ‘Good luck to you. One has to earn a living.’ He knows what I do, all right.” Has he ever stood in for the king? “I couldn’t possibly comment.” He gives one of his trademark winks. “I will say: I have signed the Official Secrets Act.” I have no idea if he’s winding me up.
Royal buzz: three
1:45pm: pass the barriers
“Is the old boy in, because he’ll be bloody livid?” says Charles. The flag at Buckingham Palace is at full mast. The king’s home, all right. “We better not go too close, else the police will do us.” He’s right. You can’t just drive into Buckingham Palace – there’s a barrier and loads of police. But in all the excitement, they think we’re the real thing or a dress rehearsal and miraculously raise the barrier and the entire motorcade is let through. Blimey!
Royal buzz: five
1.50pm: caught by the fuzz
Charles is worried we’ve upset Charles. “That’s my reputation down the swanny,” he says. “I respect the royal family. This is disrespectful. Bollocks to Alison. They should put her in the Tower.” Camilla is more worried about her wig blowing off.
“Come on, give them a little wave. They’re the public and they mean well,” says Charles, changing his tune.” “I am waving,” says Camilla. Uh-oh. The bickering has started again.
The police have cottoned on we’re not real. We’re ushered away before you can say “Guy Fawkes”. “That’s all they’re going to ask us about on TV – was that you in front of the palace?” worries Charles. “At least we won’t have to do this on 6 May.”
What will the Palace say of Jackson’s stunt? Perhaps they’ll claim today was the actual coronation, cancel Saturday and Guy and Wendy will be king and queen for ever. Seems easiest.
Royal buzz: five
2pm: time for a swift one
To celebrate the good news that we’re not to be hanged for high treason, we head to the pub – if we can find it. Coachmen Danny and Frankie are lost, so pull out the royal satnav (Frankie’s phone). We arrive at the Coach and Horses in Mayfair for half a lager (Camilla) and two pints of Best (Charles).
Royal buzz: four
2:45pm: back to Eaton Square
My final duty is to help return the royal carriage. Except we’ve all had a few drinks, and tensions are mounting. “That’s enough waving,” says Charles – tie off, blazer unbuttoned – as he relaxes back into the real Guy Ingle, and we all break character. I think Wendy would happily travel everywhere by carriage if she could wave. “I don’t do it for the money. I just do it for the fun,” she says.
Royal buzz: four
3pm: job done
“We must have had permission to enter Buckingham Palace, else they wouldn’t have let us through,” Wendy reasons during our debrief. Jackson finally admits we didn’t have permission for anything. “How does that make you feel?” asks Jackson. “I prefer to keep my thoughts in my head,” says Wendy.
“Nobody can tell what’s real and fake any more,” says Jackson, grinning ear to ear. How long has she been planning today’s stunt? “Since last week.” What is she trying to achieve? Is she a royalist or anti-royalist? “I love the royals,” she says. “I think they’re worth every penny. As a visual artist, to see them with their polished outfits, glossy buttons and tight trousers is just wonderful.”
As for me, it’s been fun playing royal footman for the day, even if I had very little idea what was going on. In the words of Homer Simpson: “Well, I think I learned my lesson. I lost creative control of the project. And I forgot to ask for any money.”
The Crown by Alison Jackson is at Grove Gallery, London W1 until 27 May
