This week, in the UK, we are celebrating a jubilee.

This is the time when you buy a celebratory tea towel – probably overdue as your existing one still has Edward VII on it. 

I’ve never attended a street party; being brought up on the fourth floor of a Balham flat made it dangerous hanging bunting between windows. One false move and you’d be threatening the livelihood of Albert Pierrepoint. 

I’ve never erected trestle tables either, as they look like they could dismember a finger as if it were a bacon slicer. 

I haven’t got any flags except my giant FC Bayern flag – most people would find this tasteless, although we are celebrating a family who used to be called Saxe-Coburg and Gotha. 

I’m assuming every street will have an old piano pushed out onto the street?

Once you’ve established someone in your road is named Chas and/or Dave, you’ve got the makings of a party.

To get in the mood for 1952, all you need are jam sandwiches or anything which has come out of a container with the name “Shippams” emblazoned in its front. My allergy to beef paste will prevent my attendance. 

No, I shall be waiting for the dessert, which must be a Jubilee Jubbly. A dessert alliteratively fit for a Queen – and hopefully still costing 3d. 

I just hope that Brian May’s not on top of my bloody roof again.