I may be a republican, but this is why I think Charles is fit to be king

With King Charles’ coronation about to dominate the air waves, what do Australians make of the Artist Formerly Known as Prince? My friends, still fuming from Jenny Hocking’s revelations in the so-called “Palace letters”, which detail the extent of royal involvement in Gough Whitlam’s sacking, definitely feel it’s time Australia came in from the reign.

But what of young Australians? Our nation is one of the most multicultural on Earth – a human minestrone – so it’s hard to imagine that a castle-encrusted monarch 17,000 kilometres away will have any resonance. Talk to most Aussie kids about “the King” and they think you’re referring to Baz Luhrmann’s Elvis.

But there is one aspect of Charles’ philosophy that will chime with both Boomers and Zoomers – his passion for the environment. Now, normally you have to perform open-heart surgery to know what’s going on inside an upper-class Englishman. But Charles has always been forthright about his environmental concerns. His campaigning took courage, too, in the face of much mockery and criticism. I hope his new role as King allows him to keep advocating for our planet.

After the Queen’s death, the outpouring of sympathy from the public clearly touched and, at times, overwhelmed him. There has been much speculation about the new King reconfiguring his image, finally showing the “real” Charles. But to his many friends he’s always been kind and compassionate, and it’s the public who have misread him for all these years.

I first met Charles at the Australian High Commission in London, 30-odd years ago. Feeling cheeky, I explained to him that Australians have embraced inverted snobbery. “Being of convict stock makes one antipodean royalty,” I informed him. “My ancestors were transported on the first and second fleets, making me the crème de la crim!

“So, g’day,” I teased, “from one aristocrat to another!”

The intake of breath from a few nostril-flared flunkies bordered on the emphysemic. Was I about to be boomeranged back to Botany Bay? But the Prince beamed. Encouraged, I clarified that most Australians have not followed in our forefathers’ fingerprints. “Our record collections are classical, not criminal,” I winked. “Well, mostly.”

The Prince pretended to pat his pockets to check for his wallet, then teasingly inquired what my forebears had been guilty of. “Not running fast enough,” I grinned.

Prince Charles chuckled warmly before being steered by a thin-lipped equerry towards a less-mischievous guest. But I got the impression that he rather enjoyed not being treated like a Porcelain Prince. Because surely the hardest thing about royal status is the endless platitudinous piffle, conversational treacle and sycophantic simpering. Not that Prince, sorry King Charles ever indicates this is the case.

Surely the hardest thing about royal status is the endless platitudinous piffle, conversational treacle and sycophantic simpering.

Whenever we meet, either at private cocktail parties or more restrained charity or cultural events, I notice his ability to put people at their ease. No matter how dull the guest, even the ones who should be stamped with a warning – “MAY CAUSE DROWSINESS” – he listens with attention, offering wry asides.

And of course, the best testament to his character is his choice of such a warm and witty Queen Consort. When the burden of office becomes too onerous, Camilla will be on hand to give Charles III a right royal laugh.

I do hope he continues to keep his court jesters close. Charles has always sought the company of a comedic clan that includes Spike Milligan, Miriam Margolyes and Stephen Fry.

My favourite example of the new King’s own deliciously self-deprecating humour took place in an Aberdeenshire castle owned at the time by Billy Connolly. Billy told me how Robin Williams and Eric Idle were teasing him about holding socialist beliefs while being lord of his own castle. “Come the revolution,” Billy quipped, “we’ll all live in castles like this!” To which the then Prince of Wales replied softly, eyes a-twinkle, “Well, I won’t.”

Despite my republicanism (surely it’s time Australia stood on its own two thongs?), I still fancy myself as a self-appointed female Falstaff, especially now that Charles has inherited the crown jewels. Because, well, those pockets of his are definitely worth picking now, right?

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