01
In a country of just a few million citizens, it’s often easy to move in unison, especially when the chips are down. But if you come from a nation the size of the UK – 67 million souls and counting – it can be trickier to talk about the national mood, let alone engender one, in a society where faith, politics and where you live on these isles shape your outlook on life in divergent ways. Even now, amid the preparations for the Queen’s funeral on Monday, there are, of course, Britons who are unmoved by her passing. Yet, despite the odd salvo from an attention-seeking academic, there is something of a national mood, or at least the feeling that we are all passing through these pageantry- and tradition-draped days to the same beat of the drum. Indeed, it’s the very choreography that draws you in. It’s as if we have been swept up in an epic flash mob.
Synchronisation can be incredibly moving – the moments when the individual voices of a choir soar in harmony, when the dancers in a ballet come together to each repeat the same moves; that second in a nightclub when you look out and see everyone caught by the same song. And it’s these moments of synchronisation, both practised and spontaneous, that have been moving this week. Watching, for example, eight young soldiers from the Grenadier Guards carrying the Queen into the Palace of Westminster with the coffin, draped in the Royal Standard, weighing on their shoulders; their hair damp with sweat from their now removed bearskin hats; their faces pressed against the coffin to make sure that, even now, she moved with grace. Yes, rehearsed but also with some magic in the perfect timing. Also moving was the synchronisation of thousands of people leaving their homes and heading to London to join the miles-long queue to walk past her coffin as it lay in state, to say their own farewells. And the uniform silence that fell on them as they entered the great hall.
National moods don’t pull everyone in (and thank goodness – otherwise these in-step moments would have the whiff of a Pyongyang propaganda parade) and they also rarely last much longer than a mayfly’s life. But in these rare times you glimpse how a few more shared values, a few more instances of moving together, could bestow some good on your country.
02
I got back from my work trip to New York last Sunday – travelling with my colleague Kate and joined by our US editor, Chris (an amazing journalist and funny too) – and a similar mood-music question has come up a few times since. “How is New York?” people want to know, asking with the same tone of voice that you would use when enquiring about a dear cousin with wayward tendencies. In short, they want to hear if this great city is in trouble. After all, they have read the reports about the uptick in crime and seen that April cover of New York Magazine that asked, in the wake of the Brooklyn subway shootings, “Who’s afraid of the subway?”
I had wondered this too, so I asked almost everyone I met what their take was. The conclusion was uniform: it’s vibrant, exciting, getting expensive, still the place to be but the number of homeless people on the streets is distressing, especially when many of them have mental-health issues. Then there’s the traffic. While the city has attempted to get people on bikes, the gridlock is shocking, especially if you are trying to switch between boroughs and there’s a bridge involved. And yet…
The sun was out and over some 72 hours in town we went to events, openings and meetings with Monocle’s partners. I met correspondents, contacts, writers, private investigators and photographers. I might have eaten and drunk a little too much (“How is Andrew these days?” people are no doubt asking with concern). I saw Spike Lee, Lin-Manuel Miranda, Carrie Mae Weems and Phyllida Lloyd in conversation onstage for the Rolex Mentor and Protégé Arts Initiative. I was introduced to the photographer David LaChapelle. I concluded my trip with brunch at Gertie in Brooklyn. Delicious.
As we left Gertie, primed for the snarly taxi route to JFK, Chris and I walked past a young man wearing a T-shirt that had an eye-catching statement printed across his chest. “An orgasm is better than a bomb,” it declared. While I was wondering when you might have to make that choice, Chris said, “That lad’s obviously off to see his mother.” And that’s how the trip ended: two slightly dented hacks walking off, laughing into the melee of Brooklyn. Personal mood music? Jolly if a little scratched from overuse.