I'll leave London's Jubilee celebrations to tourists and join a Barnsley street party - Jayne Dowle

Is it really 10 years next month since I scrambled up a banking in Battersea Park, south London, to watch the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh sail under the bridge and down the River Thames at the prow of the Royal Barge? How times have changed.

I went with my children, Jack, then aged nine, and Lizzie, who was six, and their father, who passed away last year. I wanted to share with them my own enthusiasm for bearing witness to Royal weddings, funerals and of course, jubilees, set alight when I attended my first street party, complete with Union Jack flags and borrowed cutlery for the Silver Jubilee in 1977.

It’s not so much a patriotic thing, but an impulse to say ‘‘I was there’’.

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And what an adventure that Diamond Jubilee weekend was, bagging free tickets to the vintage-themed Battersea Park Diamond Jubilee Festival, a journey to the suburbs of London, where we parked up for an overnight stay at a Travelodge, and a visit to Jack and Lizzie’s grandmother, born in 1921 and a devout follower of Her Majesty, before taking the train to the event.

Queen Elizabeth II (Pic: Getty)

Above all, it was fun. Under the auspices of designer Wayne Hemingway, who doesn’t always get it right but did here, the Festival had a homespun authenticity.

And the BBC coverage of the whole Jubilee day, which I watched on catch-up afterwards, had an unapologetic regal tone. Now I hear that super-smiley Kirsty Young and Roman Kemp (for the ‘‘youth’’) are heading up the commentary in June. I’m beginning to long slightly even for the ponderous tones of Huw Edwards.

Will I be there? Well, I did have plans. The idea was to take Lizzie, now aged 16, a big fan of Netflix’s The Crown, and my husband, an old-fashioned respecter of tradition (and a big fan of Kate Middleton) to London to watch and even take part.

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I’d earmarked an Airbnb in Bow, east London, so we could be close to Jack, who would eschew organised festivities to stay with his girlfriend, Sophie, and her family, who are proper EastEnders.

A bit of me was hoping for a proper Cockney knees-up in the pub after a day of waving my flag. We’d be going by my favourite budget transport, the Megabus, and certainly not driving, what with the price of diesel and the numerous tolls and fees required to park up anywhere within a 10-mile radius of central London these days.

In feverish anticipation, I’d even applied for tickets for the special Trooping the Colour in Whitehall on Thursday June 2, and the Platinum Party at the Place on Saturday June 4.

Well, I got turned down for Trooping the Colour because millions applied and I’m sad because Lizzie and I were carefully planning our hat and day dress outfits à la Duchess of Cambridge.

And I still haven’t heard back about the Platinum Party at the Palace tickets, but so far, only George Ezra has been confirmed so I’m managing my disappointment.

There’s lots more ‘entertainment’ promised of course, but now I know that the whole shebang is going to be dominated by a pageant on Sunday June 5 featuring the likes of Sir Cliff Richard, Alan Titchmarsh (no offence, love the gardening, but not the inane grin) and a host of celebrities I don’t recognise because I hardly watch ‘light entertainment’ telly, I’m not feeling even more than slightly bereft.

I’m wondering actually, if it’s possible to ‘cancel’ yourself? I don’t know what I was hoping for – and I will tread carefully here – but this mash-up of hackneyed pop music performers, acceptably harmless television presenters and the promise of a giant puppet of Lady Godiva leading the pageant parade up the Mall makes me feel hopelessly adrift.

It’s so carefully weighed up, so desperate not to offend, to practise inclusivity and tick every box, it seems to miss the point, which is celebration. It feels apologetic almost, and I don’t want that for the 96-year-old monarch.

The first segment is called For Queen and Country, involving marching bands and hundreds of horses. It sounds like the only bit that been planned with a sure foot on tradition.

Then there’s The Time of Our Lives, celebrating the last 70 years of British life, epitomes including the doomed Sinclair C5, followed by Let’s Celebrate.

I’m worried about this segment, particularly as it apparently includes the animal’s kingdom’s response to the news that Princess Elizabeth had ascended to the throne in 1952, on safari in Kenya.

And then – drum roll – the finale is Happy and Glorious, which will see Ed Sheeran, who gets wheer watter can’t as we say in Barnsley, take to a stage in front of Buckingham Palace with Basil Brush.

A good day for red-heads and zebras then, but the rest of us? I’ve seen, over at platinumjubilee.gov.uk, that there are thousands of local Jubilee events – from bingo to street barbecues – being planned all over the UK.

This is where the real celebration is, obviously, and where we’ll see the most positive faces of modern Britain. I’ll leave the heaving streets of the capital to the tourists. Anyone having a street party I can join?