This bastard is gonna weep at this headline.

Let's talk about Catherine, because the Arab world is and we might as well join them. Morning. Pouring rain. Green coat for Oman's flag. Diana's diamond feathers on it, the brooch only the wife of the Prince of Wales may wear. Then the curtsy to the Sultan, all the way down, all the way up, smile intact, that has been doing the rounds from Muscat to Riyadh ever since. Evening. St George's Hall. Butter yellow. A caped gown by Elie Saab, which is to say a Lebanese couturier, an Arab house chosen for an Arab guest, and nobody had to explain that to anybody at the table. The Lover's Knot on her head, Diana's again. The Royal Victorian Order across her. The King's Family Order at her shoulder. Half the internet said Belle from Beauty and the Beast. The other half just stopped scrolling. Two years ago she was on a bench in a garden telling us she had cancer. Tonight she was the most looked-at woman in the Gulf, and she got there without a single word about herself all day. Curtsied in the wet, changed, walked into the hall on her husband's arm, sat with a Sultan, went home. That's diplomacy you can't buy and can't teach. A green coat in the rain, a yellow gown at dinner, a Lebanese designer, Diana's jewels, and manners that read the same in every language. The future Queen, saying welcome twice in one day, perfectly, without raising her voice. Just wow.

Madonna asked: Who’s That Girl! Catherine Elizabeth, HRH The Princess of Wales. Butter yellow. Elie Saab, a Lebanese house for an Arab guest. A cape that moved like it was in on the secret. Diana’s Lover’s Knot, the Royal Victorian Order, the King’s Family Order. William beside her in Windsor uniform looking like a man who knows exactly how lucky he is. St George’s Hall has seen a lot. It hadn’t seen that. George, Charlotte, and Louis’ most incredible mom and advocate for all children

I am amazed.

Wow. That's the word for Windsor this morning and I'm not going to pretend otherwise. It was tipping down. Proper October rain. Nobody reached for an umbrella, not the King, not the Queen, not the Princess of Wales, because you don't greet a guest from under an umbrella and that's the end of it. The King took his top hat off to the Sultan of Oman and gave him the biggest smile I've seen on him all year. Seventy-seven, in treatment, in the wet, delighted. That's a host. Camilla in red. Catherine in green. Oman's flag, worn by two women of the House of Windsor without a word of explanation, because the Sultan would know and that's who it was for. On Catherine's coat, Diana's feathers, the Prince of Wales brooch, diamonds and emeralds, 160 years old, the one piece only the wife of the heir may wear. Her mother-in-law's. Now hers. And then the curtsy. I fainted in dramatic awe. Deep, unhurried, perfect, in heels, on wet stone, with a smile at the bottom of it. There are finishing schools that couldn't get you there in a year. William had already done his job by then. He'd gone to the Sultan's residence first thing and brought him to Windsor himself. The heir fetching the guest. Nobody filmed it properly. That's fine. It wasn't for filming. Then the carriages through the town. The King and the Sultan in the Irish coach, the Queen behind with the Omani defence minister, William and Catherine in the Australian with two of the Sultan's household, horses in the rain, the King's Troop firing the salute from Home Park, two anthems in the quadrangle. Forty-four years since a Sultan of Oman last came, and the Queen who hosted that one is in St George's Chapel a few hundred yards away. This is the thing nobody else on earth can do. A family that has known the guest's family for two centuries, turning out in the rain, in the right colours, with the right jewels, saying welcome in a language older than any treaty. Soft power isn't a phrase. It's a green coat and a curtsy in the wet. Banquet tonight. If this was the morning, God help us all.