I have to admit, when I heard the King and Queen were popping out of a TARDIS in the middle of the Commonwealth Games opening, my first thought was that someone had finally lost the plot. But there they were on 23 July at the OVO Hydro, doing exactly that. King Charles officially opened the Games, Queen Camilla by his side, stepping into a spectacle that somehow mixed Doctor Who, the Loch Ness Monster and a healthy dose of old-fashioned pomp.
It was the first time the entire opening ceremony has been held indoors, a sensible call given the weather this lot usually get lumbered with. A sell-out crowd of around 14,000 watched as athletes from 74 nations paraded in front of them. The whole thing wrapped up the King's Baton Relay too, which at least gave it some sense of continuity instead of feeling like another expensive reset button.
What struck me wasn't the fireworks or the flypast by the Red Arrows. It was the quiet reminder that the monarchy still does this better than any committee of cultural consultants ever could. Charles, as Head of the Commonwealth, wasn't there as some ceremonial prop. He was the thread that tied the whole thing together, the one constant in an organisation that has quietly outlasted empires, republics and every passing political fashion.
The performances came thick and fast: KT Tunstall, Callum Beattie, Nina Nesbitt, Nathan Evans, Saint Phnx, Tom Walker and Valtos all had a turn. Plenty of Scottish flavour, which was fitting. The scaled-down format, forced by budget realities after the original Australian hosts pulled out, actually worked in its favour. No need for the usual bloated spectacle. Just music, dance, volunteers numbering over 600, and a parade of athletes who still believe turning up under their national flags means something.
The ceremony leaned heavily into Scottish icons, wheeling out Nessie alongside the time-travelling police box. Sir Chris Hoy was on hand to greet the royal couple after their theatrical entrance. You could call it quirky. I'd call it a rather British way of saying that tradition and a bit of self-deprecating fun aren't mutually exclusive.
