The Queen and Mum

Posted by Lara Masters at 16:51 on 22 Feb 2010

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Lara and her Mum visit the Queen for some pomp and ceremony OBE stylee

Firstly, I must apologise for the late filing of this highly anticipated royal blog. I know you have all (well definitely my mum and my sister) been eagerly awaiting the inside scoop on what really goes on behind closed palace gates and I have been chomping at the bit to spill the jewel-encrusted beans. However, I was struck down by a raging fever mid-Royal Revelations Blog followed by a migraine so terrible and persistent that I would have felt it pertinent to write my will had I been able to see/think/had any assets. (Bequeathable assets that is.)

So, without further ado; the palace particulars...To re-cap; my Mum (Debbie Moore) was recommended for an OBE which the Queen herself bestows upon recipients in an act known in royal circles as "decorating" - perhaps because the verb is superfluous in its more general meaning amongst monarchs and the like, who I imagine have little personal involvement with ceiling rollers and the slapping on of Dulux.

I accompanied my Mum to this momentous occasion held at the Queen's London residence AKA; B-to-the-U-C-K (I) -N-G... P to the A-L-A-C-E (it sort-of works if you fudge over the "I" and ignore the "ham". OK, it doesn't.)

For weeks I thought about my outfit, pondering colour schemes befitting of nobility, agonising over whether it is right and proper to show a hint of bosom in Her Majesty's presence. As there was nothing on Wikipedia or the official royal website to keep me abreast of such matters of propriety, I decided that because our Queen Elizabeth II has such a magnificent bosom, the glorifying of breasts in royal company must be considered acceptable and may even be obligatory.

Guests were informed by letter to wear "Morning Dress, Day Dress or Lounge Suit" which said "white corset and black fishtail skirt" to me, and "Chanel coat" to my Mum but "hair band with some black feathers stuck on it" to every other other women there.    

The night before our imperial outing I hardly slept but was as perky as a jack rabbit and bounded out of bed (propelled by spasms) when my clock radio went off at the crack of dawn (8 a.m.)

At the palace gates my Ford Galaxy was stopped and searched by five strict police officers who were very thorough but sadly did not break into a dance. (That joke will only be funny to those who've seen Mum's reality series "Pineapple Dance Studios" - Sky One 6 p.m Sundays, repeated most evenings.)

Inside the palace was as sumptuous and magnificent as one would expect the Ruler of the Realm's to be; super-sized sparkling chandeliers, cornicing covered in gold, massive marble pillars, corridors filled with sculptures over-looked by murals and paintings of austere ancestors, the ubiquitous red carpet - even my spasms were awed into submission by the surrounding splendour. This was particularly serendipitous because I was escorted by a quiver (?) of assiduous attendants to the front of the hall, just feet from where the Queen was to conduct the ceremony and I did not want my intense excitement to precipitate a fit of leg-shakes, launching me from my chair and prostrating me at her majestic feet - appropriate as such a humble pose might be under the circumstances.

After several overtures from the orchestra, the Queen's entrance was announced by a procession of slightly doddery Yeoman - the oldest security guards in the world who look just like the man on "Beefeater" gin. I later discovered that despite the misleading name, it is not a Beefeater at all on Beefeater gin but in fact a Yeoman. Perhaps this is royal humour.

Her Majesty arrived resplendent in a pistachio-green dress, black patent shoes and matching signature hand-bag accessorised with a simple three-stranded pearl necklace, pearl stud earrings and a brooch made from at least a thousand diamonds.   

All the newby Members of the Order were briefed to bow/curtsy and to address the Queen first as Your Majesty and then as Ma'am. Mum couldn't tell me what the protocol post-Ma'am would be as by then you've had the firm, slightly pushing you away hand-shake from H.M reminding you to walk backwards as you leave as it's treason to show your back to the Queen and may cost you your head. I think this is rather a shame for the Her Majesty as she misses out on a whole world of booty-ogling that us commoners take for granted. Mum was obviously thinking exactly that as after receiving her OBE ribbon-brooch and having her tete-a-tete with Ma'am, she then high-tailed it, walking away in the heretical forwards position and giving her royalness an eyeful of derriere before suddenly remembering where she was and trying to recover by exiting the hall with some crab-like side-shuffling steps. (I reassured Mum that no one else would've noticed. And certainly there were two blind people there who may not have.)

Afterwards, we celebrated with lunch at the Ivy and Michael Parkinson made a speech saying that despite being svelte he would describe my Mum as "substantial"; they met in Manchester when she was 15 and he'd book her to model for the show he produced and 40 years later she's got an OBE.

I was so proud of my Mum, I was like a proud Mum. It was one of the happiest days of my life and to top it all off, the Queen tagged her in a photo of them on her royal website! To see Mum and Ma'am click HERE!

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