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I have no doubt that his experience was by no means unusual. We wave our little flags today, pile the cream and jam on our scones, chink our teacups. But what that generation endured is hard to fathom, decades on. No technology, no phones, relatively basic medicine, no touchy-feely therapy sessions. It was do or die; you had no choice but to get on with it. Watching the Red Arrows, seeing the faces of the crowd, listening to the stories of the veterans, I felt a sense of wistful longing for a nation, a people, a spirit and, above all, a clarity of purpose that I fear no longer exists.

And may never exist again. Yesterday, it finally admitted a ‘lapse' in what it described as ‘our usual high editorial standards' for failing to challenge the prince on his claim that he is the victim of a ‘good old-fashioned establishment stitch up'. If only. These days the ‘establishment' couldn't be trusted to sew on a bloody button. There are five members of the NSW Right in federal cabinet: Tony Burke (home affairs), Chris Bowen (climate change and energy), Jason Clare (education), Ed Husic (industry and science), and Michelle Rowland (communications).

And just as a reminder of the absolute agony he's suffering, his tin-eared idiot of a wife posted a picture of him and their two children with their backs to the camera, enjoying their not-so-hard-earned ‘freedom' in an idyllic garden. And don't get me wrong, it was wonderful to see so many people thronging the Mall, and all those street parties (in defiance of the gloomy weather). But for me, at any rate, the official celebrations were just tinged with… well, an inescapable sense of melancholy.

How they ever managed to go on to live anything even resembling a normal existence is a mystery to me. But somehow, they did. They knew the value of life, you see, understood how precious and precarious it is. They had survived: they owed it to those who did not to keep going. This, let us not forget, is supposed to be a prince of the realm. A man whose sense of duty and gratitude to the nation that gave him everything - status, a privileged education, gilded opportunity, a lavish wedding, homes, baubles, you name it, was such that he found even performing the most basic royal duties far too onerous and tiring, instead preferring to fabricate a pathetic victim narrative to justify his spectacular dereliction of duty.

There is no ‘shoulders back, heads up' nowadays. No ‘keep calm and carry on'. Just ‘me, me, me' - as exemplified by research conducted earlier this year by The Times, in which just 11 per cent of Gen Z (young adults aged 18-27) said they would be willing to fight for their country. There is more passion, more vitality, in someone like Joy Trew, 98, a great-grandmother from Bristol who served as a corporal in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force, than in your average 18-year-old, sitting in their bedroom watching TikToks or feeling triggered because someone's misgendered their cat.