The crowds were happy, in a hearts and flowers kind of way. It was a banner week for Britain. The Sex Pistols zoomed to Number One in the charts with their inimitable punk anthem, God Save the Queen, with its posters showing her wearing a safety pin. Silver Jubilee, 1977. Sid Vicious sang that there was no future in England's dreaming, that the monarchy was part of a fascist regime and they were all better out of it. The BBC banned it.
Vicious got it wrong. The queen is now so enmeshed with New Labour's dreaming project that her 50-year jubilee was a ready-made marketing opportunity for the re-release of the old punk anthem, which is now moving sedately up the charts in the middle-aged way of any social critique past its sell-by date.
Vicious is dead, Johnny Rotten becoming corpulent and the greatest makeover in recent history about to have its day.
The crowds were happy this week too. Kind hearts and coronets welcomed first the spectacle of Sir Paul McCartney and Eric Clapton playing George Harrison music on stage at Buckingham Palace's Jubilee celebrations, then Andrea Corr in the heart of the Royal bosom; finally, the conclusion that Britain loves Elizabeth II and, by association, the monarchy.
Naysayers got nowhere. Who's going to argue with a couple of million people singing God Save the Queen - the conventional version - and partying for patriotism? Unconvincing sceptics trotted out the truism that you can respect the person without supporting the privilege but no one really believed them.
The queen had one of those moments mothers dread when she saw her 50-something heir Prince Charles grin at his own joke about calling her Mummy in front of a cast of thousands. Where had she got him from?
It was clear to some that Tony Blair is really the favourite son, the boy-man who rescued her image from the fall-out of the Diana death into a land of milk, honey and high personal ratings.
THE queen's ratings haven't reached such heights since her coronation. Her permed appeal was second only to the sweatier icons playing for England in Japan and who could compete with that? There is no earthly way to justify having a monarchy in democratic terms.
But that hasn't stopped Blair from becoming the saviour of the British royals, their most effective subject since, perhaps, Sir Winston Churchill. His people sang, danced and wept with pride at the queen's celebrations. Diana's death was five years ago: as Harrison said, all things must pass.
The mood was very different on Jubilee Day 1977. Street parties and cheap china with royal mugs on it look amateur now when compared to the huge processions, fly-overs and four-day holiday Blair's government decided to permit.
The brand transformation Blair worked on the royals claims that monarchy isn't about privilege any more, it's about tradition. Don't mess with that. You only have to watch the bewigged coachmen leading out her magnificent golden coach to know that Blair is putting a mind-squeeze not only on his own people but on legions of American tourists still too traumatised by September 11th to take up their bags and fly.
The catch is that in return for her survival, the queen becomes a living exhibit, hothoused like a rare plant that can only bloom by Blair's command. Old labels bearing the legend By Royal Appointment ought to carry the tag: subject to Tony Blair; for without him, the questioning of privilege that reached crisis point on Diana's funeral day would have made the last five years work out quite differently than they have.
The monarchy would not be at its strongest point for years; the sun would be slowly setting as the Windsors prepared to give way to an elected Head of State.
Which is probably why Sir Elton John was not to be seen at the Jubilee concert. Too risky, letting memories of Candle in the Wind playing in Westminster Abbey turn the public mood from sweet to sour. Too disrespectful, suggesting that this core instrument in Britain's marketing strategy be subjected to the kind of political interrogation Blair himself avoids.
THE queen's jubilee does mark a special anniversary in the life of a woman who has served country and commonwealth, no matter what the cost. But there's something jarring in seeing this symbol of empire remade the way you'd start a living museum.
The politics of magazines found in a dentist's waiting room embraced the names who graced her platform, all the better to guarantee the punters arrived.
Why did Blair and his government go to such trouble? The marriage of monarchy and convenience isn't the first this royal dynasty has observed, but its currency presents him with a perfect opportunity to harness the twin demons of nationalism and idolatry for his own ends.
The resurrection of the British monarchy lets him break the emotional ties with the pound sterling, and dispatch it once and for all. And that's for starters.
The queen is the new currency - better beware: as in Greek myth, hubris grown from it usually wins its just desserts.