In my experience, Black people and White working class people tend to love the Royal Family. White liberals tend to hate them (a type of self-hatred perhaps). Where I grew up in the North of England, though, there was a lot of ambivalence due to the Irish influence.
These fault-lines were replicated in our house at the weekend, what with the Royal Wedding, street party and the FA Cup Final. J and her friends – Black and White – got into the spirit of it and joined the street party, even though they hate the snobbish chitchat about house prices and schools that inevitably accompanies such events. I guess the prosecco and cake got them through it. Me, I buggered off for the day to a Labour Party event, massively relieved that I had a right-on excuse for not making an appearance. I then watched the football in a pub, steering well clear of our front room, which I knew wouldn’t escape royalist merriment until later in the evening. By the time I got back in the cool evening air, the bunting was half-hanging from lampposts and the street was quiet.
I’m sure that if the Royals had declared a national holiday and given us all the day off work, I would have been straight out into the road for a free drink. But, as it was, I could safely play my Republican and Irish cards, and pretend that I wasn’t actually fascinated and excited by the Royals’ first Black wedding.