I wasn’t at all sure if I could watch the funeral. But once I cautiously turned it on, I watched most of the day. Magnificent and moving, profound and impressive and they’d only had a few days to bring everything to perfection, however many years had been spent in the planning.

From admiration for those young men who managed to carry a lead-lined coffin after a few days’ practice to tears at the sight of the Mounties and the Commonwealth representatives – only the start of the tears, I admit, the profundity of the occasion has stunned me. And the expression of wretchedness on the King’s face as the National Anthem was sung at the end.

I find it hard to say King Charles. Just as the Queen has always been queen throughout my life, he’s always been Prince Charles.

Friends of my parents had their first baby on the day he was born in 1948. Everyone was so envious – the palace sent out hampers to all those who shared his birthday with a complete layette, of baby clothes and everything else they might need. In the post-war rationing years, this was an amazing gift.

Enough people have been eloquent, so I’ll stop now.