It's said that quite a high proportion of Britons dream about the Queen (don't know what happens elsewhere in the Commonwealth: Graeme, do Canadians dream about her by proxy, via the Governor-General?). Anyway, it's not something I can remember doing much, but I dreamed about her last night. We were having a five-minute conversation, and I remember it being full of the most sickly-sweet platitudes - I could feel my IQ draining away as I spoke. And the funny thing is that I imagine that's exactly how I'd act if I ever did meet her in real life. It's not that I want to be rude to Her Maj - my mother would never forgive me, for one thing - but she is after all an intelligent grown woman. Why does the presence of her turn us into bashful ten-year-olds? What a strange vision she must have of us all - waving, grinning idiots. It reminded me a bit of the only interesting part of the otherwise very silly Oliver Stone bio-pic Nixon, where one night the President suddenly emerges unannounced and unaccompanied amongst a group of anti-war protestors at the Lincoln Memorial (this is based on a true incident, I think). These kids have come to think of Richard Nixon as their worst enemy, and yet for a few minutes at least his physical presence completely disarms them: they start muttering the same anodyne cliches as anyone in the presence of world celebrity. (If I recall correctly one of them does eventually start half-heartedly haranguing the President, but you can tell he's terrified).
Posted by Alan Allport at September 23, 2004 05:47 AMWell, we're just pack animals, really. Uh, by pack I mean "running in packs" not pack as in "beast of burden". We can't help but be awed by status, no matter how much we might deny it.
A depressing thought, yes, but try browsing the Human Nature section over at New Scientist. Take this uplifting meditation on humankind's superior reasoning faculties, for instance.
It seems to go both ways. A big set of studies have been showing for some time now that the more status people have, the healthier and basically less likely to drop dead they are, contrary to persistent popular belief.
Posted by: Alan Hogue at September 23, 2004 09:52 AMMaybe the proper term is "control," rather than "status"? I'd be interested, for example, to see how the figures stack up on independent tradespeople who may not have high overall social status but who do control the terms of their own work.
Posted by: Martha Bridegam at September 23, 2004 10:08 AMMaybe, no one seems certain yet. But control and status usually go along. In fact, can you really separate them? They seem to me almost synonymous.
The tradespeople you mention may not have high status in society as a whole compared to, say, politicians and salespeople (what a wonderfully backward society we have), but they certainly have high status within their trade and among their peers. I would think that this is what really matters.
Posted by: Alan Hogue at September 23, 2004 10:26 AMGraeme, do Canadians dream about her by proxy, via the Governor-General?
That would require dreaming of Adrienne Clarkson. I might--hypothetically-- have dreams of Adrienne Clarkson in her late-1960s, hosting Take 30 on CBC, phase of her career when she was actually very hot. Alas, I can't say similarly of the Governor General phase of her career, though I think she's amazing at the job (which is mostly providing PR for the country).
Posted by: Graeme Burk at September 24, 2004 05:46 AMFor the benefit of those who might not know it, here is a lovely bit of apocrypha dating from the '60s, when P. Anne was still with Armstrong-Jones. Supposedly...
The Queen was in a receiving line at some function where Andy Warhol was one of the guests. As Warhol approached, the assistant who was identifying people for her majesty leant over and whispered 'Andrew Warhol, ma'am, an American photographer'. E.R. then chirped 'Oh! I have a brother-in-law who's a photographer!' 'What a coincidence', Warhol replied. 'I have a brother-in-law who's a queen'.
cheers,
Henry
Posted by: Henry Larsen at October 2, 2004 02:35 AM