I'm a Republican.
No need to blow your coffee out your nose. I don't mean I've gone over to the dark side where the Bushes, the Wolfowitzes, and the Rumsfelds inhabit their own reality-immune Twilight Zone. It's just that I have a deep aversion to blue-blooded twits with crowns. I'm a Republican in the sense that I believe that kings and queens belong in a deck of cards or in a book of fairytales, not comfortably ensconced in gilded palaces at taxpayers' expense.
It's amazing to me how anyone in a serious democracy can support the existence of spongers and parasites whose talents don't extend beyond cutting ribbons and cashing outsized checks. But there they are, the royals, sitting pretty from the Netherlands to Thailand, from the U.K. to Japan, from Belgium to Saudi Arabia (OK, the latter two are hardly "serious democracies," but that's just another strike against the very concept of monarchies — they are by definition less than democratic).
In England last week, I had occasion to discuss the extremely annoying, idiotically overprivileged Windsor family over dinner with a British friend, who happens to be a former miner. His blue-collar background does nothing to dissuade him from supporting the royals, however tepidly. "We just let them be because they're to England what Mickey Mouse is to America," he said. "They're a symbol, and as such, they attract tourists, and a lot of tourist money." It's an often-heard argument, and there's certainly some truth to it. But suppose the Windsors' reign came to an end (as my friend believes it will after Charles's stint as a monarch). Would foreign visitors really stop flocking to Britain? Or would local attractions such as Buckingham Palace and Balmoral Castle actually draw more people, as every square foot of these royal sites could be opened to the public?
And the tourism argument doesn't fly in any other country, as far as I'm aware. Having been born and raised in the Netherlands, I can confidently state that the Dutch royals are not a factor of any significance when it comes to tourism. Except for giving the Dutch something to gossip about, they are in fact merely a band of not-very-useful, slightly absurd figureheads. And I'm being charitable here.
I left England as radio and TV programs began to report that Charles had gotten on a creaky knee to propose to his old paramour, Camilla Parker-Bowles. I'm sure it was coincidence that this happy news broke just as the investigation into Charles's finances was getting underway, with one Labour MP telling a royal accountant: "This looks very much like jiggery-pokery. It looks like you’ve been doing a bit of fiddling." Another remarked that Charles's annual income of at least £12 million (up 300 percent since 1990) seemed to the public "like winning the lottery every year." A day or two earlier, reporters had divulged that Charles recently received £6.5 million in public funds for improvements to his office and his private quarters. Quite the princely sum, no?
For a few moments, though, all that seemed petty and irrelevant, what with another royal wedding on the horizon. Heathrow, where I was catching a plane back to the U.S., was clearly enthralled, with people glued to the TV screens. But the fascination was hardly all positive; I saw a fair amount of sniggering and eye-rolling. 
The next day, U.K. newspapers reported that ordinary Brits were experiencing a decided lack of warmth for the happy couple. Forty percent of those polled by the Daily Telegraph believe that Parker-Bowles should get no royal title at all. And no one doubts that the crowds along the parade route will be a lot thinner than they were during any other major royal affair in memory.
Meanwhile, the Daily Star put out a memorable "Royal Wedding Souvenir Issue." The paper's front-page headline read: "Boring Old Gits To Wed."
Brilliant. I guess there's hope for Albion yet.
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