Jubilee, jubila, life goes on

I thought there was just about the right amount of royal coverage this week.  The concert was a bit of a letdown, though.  Elton John?  Paul McCartney?  It was like a Superbowl half-time show for the erectile dysfunction generation.  (Speaking of urology, do you think Prince Philip appreciates having the entire world know how his bladder is functioning?)  And am I the only one who wishes they had asked the surviving members of Pink Floyd to sing "Shine On, You Crazy Diamond"?  Seemed like an obvious choice.  While Sir Paul was dipping into the Beatles songbook, I found myself wondering what a seventy-year jubilee is called.  After all, the Queen Mum lived to be 101.  Platinum, maybe?  Titanium, which is what HM's hip joints will most likely consist of by then?  Aren't you glad Tim Berners-Lee invented the Web so I can share these insights with the universe for all time?