Rosemary Goring: From royal babies to weddings, it's all about survival for the Windsors

How happy the couple look; who wouldn’t wish them all the best, and William and Kate's new arrival, too? I am not sorry, though, to be out of the country that weekend for the wedding of Harry and Meghan, far – I hope – from tabloid candyfloss and chat show drivel. The ceremony has become, as was inevitable, a deluxe exercise in buffing the royal image and conveying an impression that, despite their titles and wealth, the House of Windsor is just like the House of the Broons. We fool ourselves, of course, if we ever believe that.

Most of us know deep down that they are in a league of their own. Why else is there such excitement? As in bygone days, when crowds lined the streets to catch a glimpse of gold-plated carriages sweeping past, today’s wedding watchers are hoping to share for a fleeting moment the glamour and star dust of those who occupy a realm unimaginably more elevated than ours. I suspect, though, that a diehard few romantics truly think that behind the fabulous jewellery and designer clothes, the polo horses and limousines, they are just a posher version of you or me. The reality is that while much has been done to camouflage the yawning disparity of outlook and lifestyle between them and us, the gulf remains as deep as the moat at Windsor Castle, as vast as the blasted heath in which Balmoral lies marooned.

Nor is it just a question of scale. It is not the funds in their bank accounts and the properties (and nannies) they possess that set the royals apart. When a mother raises her eyebrows in embarrassment because her son calls her Mummy, as did the Queen when Charles paid birthday tribute to her at the weekend, it’s an indication of their otherness.

Take the forthcoming wedding: how many couples have their nuptials stage-managed with such military precision that Admiral Nelson would have approved? The tactical skill with which it is being planned is intended not merely to enable the exchanging of vows but, almost as importantly, to foster international harmony, promote social cohesion, and ensure charitable provision. It’s a tall order for the big day, but it is business as usual for the Windsors. Every public engagement must carry a wider message. To make a faux pas on such an occasion could have serious repercussions. Thus, from the selection of guests to the table placings, this is as much a political event as in the middle ages when princes and princesses married to shore up dynasties rather than follow their hearts.

Certainly, the younger royals, less encrusted in protocols from another age, are gradually modernising the family name. More open-minded, they are also aware of the popular mood. In marrying for love they have even learned to copy commoners’ ways, and for this they should thank us. In everything else, however, they remain in another world. When Kate wears the same coat three years in a row, it is no accident. Doubtless her stylists hang each item in the wardrobe with a note recording when last worn, and to what event. Had Marie Antoinette done the same, she might have lived into old age.

Our redoubtable queen, on the other hand, epitomises how differently royals must behave. In her sensible, tireless demeanour and workaholic ways she insists on putting her official responsibilities and the reputation of the crown first, despite the personal, emotional cost. Charles, meanwhile, is a throwback to the days of the Georges. Quite apart from believing the Prince of Wales’s title came with the automatic right to take mistresses, it is said that he travels with his bed and toilet seat. So did the Tudors. Doubtless, like Charles, Henry VIII would also have insisted his valet pack his preferred brand of toilet paper, had such a thing existed back then. There’s little doubt Buckingham Palace’s spin doctors will have to work overtime when Charles takes the throne.

Now that the days of regal self-indulgence and sybaritism are over – almost – the key to understanding the Windsor clan is their need to survive, to prove they have a purpose and are not merely a decorative and expensive adornment on the national stage. Recognising that they are an endangered species, everything they do and say must burnish the idea of monarchy so brightly it will never fall out of favour. Unlike their near cousins, the landed aristocracy, their role is not as individuals able to enjoy their inheritance. They are, instead, players in a team game in which the stakes are poker high. Every turn of a card, whether it’s a speech at a wedding, or a new baby, must justify their existence. You might think theirs is an enviable life, but to me it looks like hard and never-ending work. It’s more fun being ordinary.