As the soft drizzle in London gave way to a downpour, Charles was crowned king in Westminster Abbey, and the feeling came over many of us, if not all, that some things are the more marvellous for being a bit silly and unfathomable. The republicans did not celebrate; they took their placards and yellow T-shirts to Trafalgar Square. The coronation was ludicrous but also magnificent with the sound of the South African soprano, Pretty Yende, in a daffodil-yellow dress with shoulders the size of sails, singing Sacred Fire.
At the abbey, there was too much to take in. Colour, pomp and crazy jewellery. My dear, the outfits!
There was a beadle and a Unicorn Pursuivant, a Chester Herald and a representative of the Knights Bachelor. Floella Benjamin, the Play School presenter who my children grew up with, carried the Rod of Equity and Mercy (otherwise known as the King's sceptre). The Ascension Choir's male singers wore tight white trousers, and the kind of infectious smiles only gospel music and sincere belief can induce. Bryn Terfel sang beautifully in Welsh, such formidable power in is voice, even if his folded arms did make him look like a bouncer at a Merthyr Tydfil nightclub. Princess Anne, who bears the fantastical title "Gold Stick in Waiting", wore a hat that will, in due course, almost certainly feature in the paperback edition of her nephew Harry's book. Spare; he was a few rows back, as predicted, and behind her red feather throughout. Most of all, though, there was Penny Mordaunt, the Lord President of the Council. Mordaunt will probably never be prime minister now, but she has written her way into the history books with her extraordinary performance in the abbey, an hours-long show of strength. Somewhere along the line, she dispensed with the notion of wearing the black and gold court dress of the privy council, commissioning instead a new and utterly regal outfit for herself. The whole thing - save for the court shoes, which looked comfortable enough to be from the Portsmouth Marks & Spencer - was very Game of Thrones, an impression only added to by the fact that in front of her she carried the sword of state, which is 4ft long and weighs eight pounds. She never wobbled for a moment.
None of this, though, could detract from the heart of the ceremony; its symbolism and its glory had even the arch cynics of social media straining for superlatives. Only a stone-hearted person could fail to have been moved by the multifaith parts of the service, and if you felt nothing when the choir sang Handel's Zadok the Priest at the King's anointment, you are either an algorithm or half dead.
Charles left the smiles to Camilla, and in so doing, made the moment when his son kissed him a fully sentimental one, his quiet "Thank you, William" his only real display of emotion.
The archbishop spoke of the king being "set apart" for the service of his people, and the coronation makes this manifest. Already, we think of him differently; he used to be plain Charles. He is King Charles III now.
The past and the future, history woven through him. Even the most ardent republican must find it astonishing, in its way, that the coronation chair, commissioned by Edward I, has been the centrepiece of this ceremony for 700 years; that the St. Edward's crown was made for Charles II; that the imperial state crown (the second that the king wore) contains a ruby that Henry V is supposed to have worn at Agincourt.
After the abbey, there was a procession a mile long. Four thousand members of the armed forces. Princess Anne on horseback. Charles and Camilla in their golden pumpkin. Precision that was unbelievable in a country where nothing works.
We then took the opportunity to drive to Stuart and Tina's for a Coronation Tea arriving just in time to watch the family appear on the balcony.
There had been no hitches. The crowd below was swollen. I was glad.
And on Sunday the sun shone and we enjoyed a delightful Street Party in Caroline's road.
Bunting, wine and music.
Alun had to work over the Coronation weekend but he joined in.
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