Sail on, O Ship of State! … You’d have thought that King Charles would have wanted a little down time. A little me time. A time to privately grieve his mother and to accustom himself to his new role as head of state. But constitutional monarchy allows no rest. There are procedures and protocols to be observed. Preferably with as much pageantry and absurdity as possible. Brits like history to come as costume drama. So on Monday morning the new sovereign came to Westminster Hall to receive the condolences of both houses of parliament and to make his first speech to them as King. And, in fairness, if you’re going to do this sort of thing, there is nowhere better to do it. The 900-year-old hall is genuinely awe-inspiring – it makes the Commons and the Lords look tawdry – and has been a pivotal scene in British democracy. Our history has grown up around it. The physical intersection of the monarchy and the people. It’s also where Charles I was tried. Though this probably wasn’t the day to bring that up. The band of the Royal Household Cavalry played the Eriskay Love Lilt as MPs and peers made their way to their seats. Even Jeremy Corbyn was there, having missed the meeting of the accession council on Saturday despite having been invited. Perhaps it had been a busy day down on the allotment. Keir Starmer, Rachel Reeves and Angela Rayner all arrived together; Liz Truss came in alone, almost unnoticed. Someone with a sense of humour had seated Theresa May next to Boris Johnson. May pulled her hat down over her right ear so she couldn’t catch a glimpse of him by accident and studiously ignored him. A crumpled and dishevelled Johnson – he couldn’t even be bothered to make an effort for a state occasion like this – had to do with making small talk with Suella Braverman. The shortest of short straws. Still, be grateful for small mercies. At least the ceremony took place before Johnson had been given the chance to demean it with his resignation honours list. Shortly before 10am, one of the doormen made a brief housekeeping announcement, ending by urging everyone to enjoy themselves. Though not too much. Then eight Yeomen of the Guard with giant spears processed up the central aisle, their spurs echoing on the stone floors, followed by a decidedly elderly and sweaty group of Gentlemen at Arms in floppy hats. Only in Britain. Next up was the Speakers’ procession, led by Lord McFall, the Speaker in the Lords, and ending with Lindsay Hoyle. Having made it up to the south end of Westminster Hall, the Lord Great Chamberlain – who invents these titles? – scurried back down to the other end to meet King Charles and Camilla, the Queen Consort. He had a bit of a wait as Charles hadn’t even left Clarence House. Presumably the delay had some massive constitutional significance rather than just being a failure to synchronise watches. Once Charles and Camilla were in place, both speakers made their addresses on behalf of their members. Their voices briefly brought us back to the 21st century. McFall grew up in Dumbarton, the son of a caretaker, and left school at 15: Hoyle grew up in Lancashire, the son of a Labour MP, Doug Hoyle. Both men expressed their sadness at the death of the Queen and how difficult it must be for the new king at such a time. But they also tactfully but firmly articulated the expectation that Charles should treat parliament in the same way as his mother had. Hoyle mentioned the ceremony the Queen had attended in 1988 to celebrate the 300th anniversary of the 1688 revolution. It may have seemed odd, he said, to mark a revolution with an address to the Queen, but those revolutions had protected the people’s liberties and created a stable monarchy. King Charles laughed awkwardly. He didn’t seem entirely sure if he had been given a welcome or a warning. Then it was Charles’s turn to reply. He began by quoting Shakespeare. Like the other Elizabeth before her, his mother was a “pattern to all princes”. He went on to talk about the physical marks left on the parliamentary estate to celebrate her visits to it over the years. The sundial; the fountain; the stained glass window. His message was clear. The Queen had known her place. And he did too. The will of parliament was paramount. He wouldn’t be rocking the boat. After a quick rendition of God Save the King, the ceremony was done and dusted. All in well under half an hour. The more obsequious MPs and peers bowed and curtseyed – Michael Gove would have prostrated himself on the floor if he had been given the chance – as the royal party made its way back down the aisle. Others just enjoyed the spectacle while wondering what the hell it had been all about. The machinery of constitutional monarchy in progress? The continuation of hundreds of years of history? Or just a nice day out for everyone? To remind everyone of their places. Your call.