I HAVE never met Ross Greer. Despite him being an MSP for West Scotland, and the Scottish Green Party’s spokesman for “International Development and External Affairs, Education and Skills, and Culture and Media” (no opinion on the price of fish, then Ross?), our paths have never crossed.

I have, however, admired his career from afar, and in particular his talent for getting right up people’s noses. Who could forget him calling Churchill a “mass murderer”?

For that cheek alone he was verbally hung, drawn and quartered by the media, yet he survived, thrived even. There are not many who can take on Piers Morgan in a contest to be the biggest blowhard, but the youngster almost edged a win. With a bit of luck he was on his way to becoming the George Galloway of his generation, but without the silly hats.

It is with no little dismay, then, to see Ross letting us down, and more importantly letting himself down, with his comments on the Queen’s platinum jubilee celebrations.

He started off well, saying he was “deeply uneasy” about so much being spent to mark the occasion while families were being hit hard by the rising cost of living.

But then came this: “I respect people who hold a different point of view and don’t begrudge them their celebrations, but the Scottish Greens believe passionately that in a healthy democracy the people should choose their head of state, and that individuals should be accountable to those who elected them.”

Full marks for the latter part, but what is all this about respecting different points of view and not begrudging people their celebrations? How far would Lenin, or even Lennon, have got with nice manners like that?

That is the institution of monarchy for you, steam-rollering all objections in its way, throwing stars in critics’ eyes. All that is left for your average republican to do is respectfully disagree, wish the celebrating crowds well, and get out of Dodge as fast as you can.

It is not easy, mind you. Seeing the money being spent, and the hours of coverage being given over to the various events, even the most easygoing republican could be forgiven a sense of humour failure about this long weekend. There is something particularly dispiriting about these celebrations happening in this year of all years.

For those of a certain vintage the standout jubilee was the silver one in 1977. Heaven knows it was hardly bliss in that dawn to be alive. Strikes, soaring inflation, heavy industry disappearing, unemployment up, winter of discontent on the way.

The National Front on the streets, sexism and misogyny rife, homophobia on prime time telly for those who could not get enough of it in real life. The Seventies in general were awful and no, to modify a catchphrase of the time, many of us really didn’t like them.

All told, 1977 did not have a lot going for it, with few items to file in the positive column. There was a Labour Government in power (and kept there for a time by the SNP, imagine), filled with ministers of the calibre of Denis Healey, David Owen and Peter Shore. That was about it. Oh, save for the appearance of a popular beat combo of the time called the Sex Pistols, whose song, God Save the Queen, almost made it to number one in the official charts despite a blanket ban by the BBC. The UK of 1977 might have been a miserable pit of a place, but at least parts of society, youth to the fore, still had enough fire in their bellies to rail at the established order.

(I hazard a guess that Mr Greer would have been a dedicated follower of punk had he been born in that era. Boris Johnson, never; a young Keir Starmer, maybe, on the quiet; Nicola Sturgeon, pretty definitely I’d guess.)

Contrast 1977 and the silver jubilee with the UK of today and the platinum jubilee celebrations. There have definitely been improvements in the 45 years between the two events, though for every positive there is a negative. We are a more tolerant, diverse society, though problems persist. We are better off, but more unequal. We are more concerned about the planet, but not enough to do what is needed in the time left.

What of politics? Power has never been more devolved, with national parliaments across the UK, but who can say this feels like a happily united kingdom?

Half a century on, there is a Cabinet in Westminster stuffed full of millionaires and topped by a Chancellor who makes the Sunday Times Rich List with a combined wealth, with his wife, estimated at £730 million.

Say what you like about the UK of 1977, but it had a certain grim honesty about it. There was a dignity in its decline. When the UK of 2022 looks in the mirror it sees a very different version of itself, if the Jubilee pageant is any guide. Here is a UK of massed pipers and the Life Guards mounted band. Of buses from the 1950s to the 2000s, of Daleks, James Bond, something called “Lady Godiva and her Corgis”, with the whole shebang finishing off with Ed Sheeran. It might turn out to be marvellous on the day, but on paper it is the sheer naffness of it all that stands out. It makes you appreciate the genius of Danny Boyle’s London Olympics opening ceremony all over again.

These jubilee celebrations take place in a UK so vastly changed from 1977 they might as well be happening on another planet. The royal family itself has altered radically since 1977, as have public attitudes towards the monarchy. Deference and affection have been replaced by scandal and unease. The very notion that Andrew should appear within a mile of the balcony is surely incredible.

Inevitably, the UK government has thrown itself behind the celebrations, hoping to grab some reflected glow should all go well.

This, perhaps most of all, takes much of the shine off proceedings. What image of post-Brexit Britain does a government led by Boris Johnson present to the world?

A Prime Minister who makes the rules, breaks the rules, and even when his own standards adviser raises an eyebrow, continues to bluster and deflect. A Prime Minister whose own MPs, in increasing numbers, do not trust or believe him and want him to go. There is little to be proud of there.

Enjoy the celebrations this weekend if that’s your thing. You fly the flag if you want to; the lady is not for bunting.