It felt like a hundred years of news coverage. As the commentary and the endless, pointless interviews grew ever more banal, I began to hope for a live feed to the Royal Nursery, where the paint might still be drying on the walls.
From my favourite clifftop vantage point, I can see the peninsula of what is finally beginning to feel like my home-town. It's an ever-changing view, but today it's calm: I can see the snow-topped haziness of Islay in the distance, far beyond.
In the last couple of years my home town of Portsmouth has undergone something of a curious transformation. This normally risk-averse island has been putting two fingers up at the cainophobic by opening up a number of jaunts that would not look out of place in my former residence, London.