It’s hard to believe that three years have already passed since Britain stood still to mourn Queen Elizabeth II.
Her passing didn’t just mark the end of a reign—it marked the end of a whole way of life.
Many of us who queued for hours to see her lying in state at Westminster Hall still remember the silence, the weight of history, and the strange sense of stepping into a new, uncertain age.
I was in Strasbourg when the news first broke, and even the French, usually our rivals in so many things, showed immense respect.
Their tricolour lowered to half-mast, and the great cathedral bell tolled 96 times—one for each year of her life.
It was during the funeral, when the crown, sceptre, and orb were lifted from her coffin, that it truly sank in: something irreplaceable had left the world, and something smaller, harsher, had taken its place.
The Spell of Elizabeth II
Elizabeth II wasn’t just a monarch. By sheer longevity, she kept alive a gentler spirit in Britain—a trace of chivalry, honour, and decency that seemed to resist the sourness of the modern age.
She bridged a past Britain with the one we inhabit now, and as long as she lived, that connection endured.
Since her death, many have confessed to feeling the country has drifted into a rudderless state. I think they’re right.
A Chilling Silence Over Trump’s Gunman
The recent murder of Charles Kirk brought back thoughts of another grim event: the 2024 attempt on Donald Trump’s life.
At the time, I assumed we’d learn everything about the shooter, Thomas Crooks, who was killed at the scene. Strangely, we haven’t.
There were reports suggesting Crooks had been caught using drugs by his grandparents and was told to leave their home, but details remain murky.
I’ve long suspected he was mentally unstable—possibly worsened by marijuana use.
Yet, mainstream media either ignores or buries such connections. Why do we still know so little about one of the most shocking political attacks in modern U.S. history?
Nostalgia for the Cold War
Talk of war has resurfaced again after Russian drones entered Polish airspace, with some predicting a global conflict.
But this isn’t the first brush with danger. Back in 2022, someone blew up the Nord Stream pipeline—Russia’s direct gas link to Germany.
Almost everyone at the time suspected the United States, and Poland’s Radek Sikorski even tweeted, “Thank you, USA!” before hurriedly deleting it.
His words were snapped up by Russia as propaganda, while Washington has firmly denied involvement ever since.
I sometimes wonder: how would America react if Russia blew up one of its pipelines?
Denials wouldn’t be enough. Poland, meanwhile, has always hated Nord Stream, viewing it as a dangerous alliance between Moscow and Berlin.
Their fears aren’t baseless—history in that region has been scarred by betrayal and war.
Old Wounds and New Leaders
History is never far from politics in Eastern Europe. Just weeks ago in Gdańsk, the very city where World War II began, Poland’s new nationalist president Karol Nawrocki demanded reparations from Germany for the 1939 invasion.
This shows how deeply past resentments still shape the present.
While modern leaders seem eager to stir these old ghosts, I find myself oddly nostalgic for the Cold War.
For all its dangers, it offered a strange stability—a frozen balance of power that at least kept greater catastrophes at bay.
Today, by contrast, the world feels full of sharp edges and unsteady hands.