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Alastair Campbell: They, er, sent a copy of the Queen's speech. Might want to scrape the frost off it first... Oh, I phoned them with a couple of suggestions, to make it sound like it came from a human being.
Tony Blair: Yeah, all right, Alastair.
Alastair Campbell: Well, at least the old bat's finally agreed to visit Diana's coffin.
Tony Blair: You know, when you get it wrong, you really get it wrong! That woman has given her whole life in service to her people. Fifty years doing a job SHE never wanted - A job she watched kill her father! She's executed it with honor, dignity, and, as far as I can tell, without a single blemish, and now we're all baying for her blood! All because she's struggling to lead the world in mourning for someone who... who threw everything she offered back in her face, and who, for the last few years, seemed committed 24/7 to destroying everything she holds most dear!
And then there's this:
The Queen: (to little girl holding flowers outside Buck House; she has just been reading horrible accusing slogans on the tributes) Hello. Would you like me to place those for you?
Little Girl: No.
The Queen: (crushed, but hiding it bravely) Oh.
Little Girl: These are for you.
(After that, every single person in the crowd one by one bows or curtsies to their Queen with the utmost respect and admiration.)
The Queen, spiritually at her lowest point in her life, left alone with a busted vehicle in the middle of nowhere, happens to see the majestic stag her grandsons are hunting. Seeing how beautiful the stag is, she does what she can to shoo him away before any hunter finds him.
But the stag is wounded by an amateur hunter who left it in agony for hours before professional hunters perform a mercy kill.
The Laird at Balmoral, after the Queen has just visited the slain stag. After 90-odd minutes of Queen-mucking, it was a sign that not everything had changed: