It was a bit of a shock, albeit a pleasant one, when I headed recently to Fortnum & Mason for my first visit to their legendary Jubilee tea salon. Yes, yes, I know it's been going for donkey's years.
I won't lie. I was starting to give up on humanity. I was feeling generally miserable about recent reports of record amounts of melting ice in the Arctic, Mitt Romney's eternally moronic campaign in the US and our current situation of ever rising economic destruction and damning of human rights by the Coalition.
As afternoon teas go, I've had some truly horrendous experiences, some especially wonderful experiences and some in between; afternoon tea at The Soho Hotel, was charmingly decadent and very much a wonderful experience.
I love the Olympics, love the endeavour, the challenge to push the limits of human capability. I love the competition, the striving, the winning and the losing; the podium moments, the team hugs and the heartbreak interviews. But that is not what the torch relay or indeed, these Games themselves are about. They are about consumption.
Brits don't really want to be branded. A favourite pastime might be moaning about the state of our country, but woe betide any other nationality finding fault with our home state. We have the best of everything, and sometimes the worst (I'm thinking mainly about the weather, although you can take your pick from the economy, our teeth and all manner of other stereotypical issues) but it is ours, which counts for a lot. The past week has showcased that in all its glory.
Judging from the media coverage of the Diamond Jubilee celebrations you'd think that the entire British population are ardent monarchists. Critical, dissenting voices were mostly ignored and sidelined. Journalistic balance and impartiality was supplanted in favour of fawning sycophancy towards the royals.
Personally, I view the Royal Family much as a football-sceptic must view the hype and fervour generated by England going to a World Cup. I take minimal interest in it, do not fully understand what the fuss is about, would rather my nation devoted itself to more important matters, and will probably only tune in if it went to penalties. Which it has not done since 1649.
In a day full of Jubilee TV, Gary Barlow: On Her Majesty's Service achieved the honour of being the most nauseating show of all yesterday.