Charles proves we've lost our passion with our Royals

The videos show it all. Streets lined with patriotic Brits wearing tri-coloured hats and waving the Union Jack franticly, as they anxiously anticipate the arrival of a Monarch. The pictures are full of pride and high spirit as the Queen’s jubilee of 1977 takes place.

Today was the day Prince Charles and Camilla arrived in Stoke-on-Trent. I found out about the visit by a press release sent to us regarding his tour of the city. Reporting on a different story caused me to coincidently walk past the city's Council office, the Civic Centre, where a small audience had gathered. Police had blocked off all the roads surrounding the building, which caused large traffic-jams and delays around the town. Security and a large entourage had taken over the street and were barking orders at the pedestrians to make sure they sounded official down the earpieces connecting the prudish Bouncers.

The audience of around 40 were eagerly waiting with digital cameras and video phones aimed at the door, as they chose to see our possible future King through a viewfinder rather than embrace a once in a lifetime chance of greeting a Royal. Then it happened. The sound of the photographer’s camera was the initial giveaway to Charles leaving the building, and heading onto the streets. Expecting to hear a roar of patriotic chanting and vigorous applauding; I paused in my tracks to engage in an auspicious moment of respect and unity. I was wrong.

Prince Charles walked out of the building to one Union Jack on his left and a feeble old lady waving a small sandcastle sized St George in front of me. A small group began to cheer but stopped after a few seconds. The eminent Prince looked happy. He held a smile I’d seen on the television; a smirk glued onto the face of somebody who spends their existence in front of a camera. A few people clapped the Prince, myself included. I looked around to see why nobody was applauding. Had I missed him curse the crowd before I got there? Had Prince Charles promised to exit the Civic Centre wearing a white tux, holding two white tigers? I thought not.

Then it came to me why nobody was clapping and cheering. Around seventy-five percent of the spectators were clutching onto mobile phones and camera; using anything to capture the moment, not psychologically, but as tangible evidence of the day they saw Prince Charles. But why? Why can’t they leave it to the press to prove Prince Charles was in Stoke-on-Trent? Why couldn’t they take a photo and embrace the moment that the next Monarch of England was right before their very eyes.

A lady, and what looked like her partner, walked behind me moaning. “Prince, he’s no different to any of us,” she barked load enough for the surrounding spectators to hear. She wasn’t even looking in the direction of our Royal successors. Why was Stoke behaving so negatively towards our culture, our Sovereignty, our Prince?

Prince Charles went over to speak and to greet a few spectators on his right who were watching behind metal barriers. People were talking to him whilst others were leaning over others shoulders to aim a camera in his face and grab a picture to show how close they were to him. It was extremely awkward to watch. It looked impertinent and clumsy.

Charles and Camilla returned to the car and waved to the crowd before getting in and driving off with an entourage larger than the horde of patriots.

I left confused by the whole experience. I couldn’t believe the response shown to the Prince of Wales. It seemed people were too eager to have photos of the Prince to show others than to actually see him themselves. Maybe the photos will have some importance when published on Facebook later in the day? Maybe that was the aim?

After the saga, I went into Sainsbury’s to buy some dinner; I was still thinking about the whole thing. I went to pay with cash but felt too interested in the note I was about to hand over. I felt obliged to keep hold of it, so I paid with card and replaced the note back into my wallet. I looked at the note when I returned to my flat. I was thinking about how many of these sheets of paper exist, all over the world, and all with the face of our Monarch on - soon to be Charles maybe. That was the man today, the man who received such contempt and lack of appreciation.

I was also confused by the turn out, well, the handful of Brits who bothered to turn out shall I say.

The irony of 1,300 EDL supporters gathered in Hanley 4 weeks previous, rioting about sovereignty and tradition was a lot to take in. 1,300 men chanting “God save the Queen” so passionately, I thought I was going to walk round the corner to Lizzy being hung, drawn and quartered with the EDL pleading helplessly. So why couldn’t Prince Charles bring the nationalistic EDL to the Civic Centre to patriotically greet the Royals? Or maybe the EDL were just bellowing Royal chants 4 weeks previous because it felt like the buzz of match day?

Maybe we’ve just lost touch with our Royal family. The Monarchs aren’t embraced with passion and spirit anymore. Britain has lost the love for tradition and pride. Having a Royal on the throne doesn’t excite anyone anymore. Our Royals might not have any legitimate or significant reason to exist in Britain in 2010 but why can’t we celebrate our heritage by showing respect to somebody who makes our country stand out from the rest. Maybe we’ve become too impartial? Surely elites can exist for cultural purposes only, rather than need an obvious reason for such status.

I’m proud we have a royal family, and I’m very pleased to have seen Prince Charles today with my own eyes, rather than him standing in front of me whilst I gaze at him through a viewfinder whilst thinking about rushing back home to get the photos onto Facebook. Or maybe that’s just the way we’re heading as a country.