THREE KINGS

Yesterday was a day of kings. Three kings to be exact and all of whom I'm ambivalent about although I have perhaps slowly begun to warm to two.

The first king was Charles, the newly crowned monarch of England.

The second was Gioachino Rossini, hailed by some as the king, or at least a king of opera.

And thirdly, Canelo Álvarez, otherwise known as one of the current pound for pound kings of boxing who was set to defend his numerous belts against a challenger to his crown, the Brit, John Ryder.

With the rain falling on King Charles's parade, I have no doubt there were many gleeful republicans who enjoyed the wet and cloudy climate on a day meant for great jubilation. I, on the other hand, felt it perfectly suited what has been a general feeling of malaise in the country since the Queen died. Britain has become such a brow beaten place of late, partly due to a collective self hatred driven by the media and creative arts intelligentsia that constantly seems to drive a kind of suppressive negation on any outpouring of positivity, mild patriotism or even casual liking for the country that it's as if the Queen of Narnia has condemned us to a permanent winter forever more.

Sadly, I don't think Charles will be the Aslan to bring back the sunshine to melt the winter snow and ice that has set deep within the psyche of this sceptred isle but perhaps it's too much to expect any one person to do that anyway.

And perhaps I'm simply Royall-ed out since over the past year we've had both the Queen's Jubilee and her funeral within the space of a just a few months and history in Britain seems to increasingly resemble someone fast forward tracking a movie at high speed to get to the good part.

At least the regalia of William, Kate and their picture perfect children made for good optics, especially in contrast to watching the ghastly roll out of ex-Prime Ministers (especially the increasingly ghoulish looking Tony Blair) cashing in on their last moments of relevance and on a day when the only other real highlights included Princess Anne's hat feather blocking Prince Harry's angst-ridden face.

The second king that played a part in my Saturday was Gioachino Rossini whose Coronation opera "Il Viaggo In Reams" I went to watch staged and performed by the English Touring Opera in a delightful production that reminded me of why opera is the most human of art forms when it is at its best. Artificial Intelligence will surely struggle to capture the authenticity of a live performance in the theatre even with all the current fears around music generating AI.

Silly plot and libretto aside, there was something reassuring about the fluff of the piece and the sublimely hysterical amorous and privileged characters all anxious and flouncing about their attending a coronation for Charles X of France.

With suffused, pastel-like lighting that resembled a sort of never ending mediterranean summer's evening I felt we finally had the fine weather (albeit artificial) that perhaps our Charles would have desired for his own special day.

And as several performances of national anthems were carried out by the singers on stage, it was hard not to enjoy the deliberate coincidence of Il Viaggo being performed on Coronation Day with Edward Hawkins as Lord Sideny delivering an Italian language rendition of 'God Save The King'.

In this case, life seemed a pale imitation of art.

But at least, for perhaps the first time, I truly began to appreciate the genius of Rossini's comic pomp and frippery.

The third and final king of Saturday was Saúl Canelo Álvarez, the undisputed Mexican middle weight champion defending his many belts from the mandatory challenger, London's very own John Ryder.

It was an electric occasion at the Estadio Akron in Guadalajara, Mexico where Canelo was having his first homecoming fight since fighting away from his native country for eleven years and where 400 hundred mariachi musicians played for what seemed an eternity as he made his entrance ring walk with all the confidence of the excessively ebullient music accompanying him.

It was always going to require a Herculean effort for the challenger Ryder to dethrone Canelo who is the boxing equivalent of a bull shark, constantly hitting you with relentless attacks to the body, whipping lethal bodyshots as if he's tenderising you like a piece of meat for the family's feast on Cinco De Mayo.

And true to form he smashed Ryder's nose at the end of the second round as the canvas the two men fought on became a blood soaked mess.

Competing for the top crown in this sport often requires blood and sweat in any bid for ascension to the throne. Ryder was up against a immovable force in Canelo but won his opponent and the crowd's respect by seeing out the final bell.

So, England would have only one king at the end of this Coronation Day and Ryder would have to settle for being a king of hearts instead of a king with a crown.

As for Charles, he can be thankful he didn't have to go twelve rounds with Canelo to win his coronet.