I WOULD have been quite content to let the period of national mourning and funeral for Queen Elizabeth pass without making any comment on it whatsoever.

When I was thinking of what to write about for this week’s column, avoiding this topic was my primary objective.

It should be no surprise that I failed. It’s impossible to escape.

These last few weeks have felt like being bludgeoned over the head with other people’s beliefs.

To me, the concept of a royal family is utterly ridiculous.

The individual cast of characters that have obtained their place in society by accident of birth doesn’t matter.

Like all families, some members are more palatable than others.

They’re not all as vile as Prince Andrew but even if every single one of them was the epitome of service and duty, never putting a foot wrong, I’d still be disgusted by the entrenched privilege that underpins the monarchy.

But however baffling I’ve found these recent days, I know that lots of people really did feel strong affection for the Queen.

Their grief at her passing is real and I wouldn’t vilify them for it, even if it’s something I don’t personally share or fully understand.

For some, the Queen’s passing has brought up memories of losing grandparents and loved ones. Others have felt a sense of unease that somebody who was a constant throughout their lives has now gone.

Again, I don’t share those feelings, but I would never criticise anybody for having them.

READ MORE: When will journalists learn that Scotland has had only one Queen Elizabeth?

But what’s become clear throughout this period of national mourning is that neutrality isn’t quite respectful enough.

It’s not enough to be quiet, you’ve got to be an active participant: whether you are willing to or not.

The days since the Queen’s death have been peppered with moments of fundamental strangeness.

There were reports of some foodbanks being closed as a mark of respect. Companies have employed bizarre social media strategies to ensure that they aren’t singled out as being the one restaurant or retailer that hasn’t shown an appropriate amount of grief.

Ironically, this descent into madness has actually provided some light relief at a time when joviality is frowned upon.

Center Parcs got itself into an unholy tangle after telling holidaymakers they’d need to leave their cabins for 24 hours on the day of the Queen’s funeral.

After being inundated with complaints, the company got into further trouble after appearing to suggest that residents would be under a form of house arrest if they decided to stay on site when the parks were closed.

It was an unforced error and one that is symptomatic of the grief frenzy.

I was in a charity shop at the weekend and on the back of the mannequins in the window there were signs which informed shoppers that they had been dressed in black out of respect for the Queen.

Did they think the residents of Glasgow would have written strongly worded complaints if they’d dared dress them in bright prints and whimsical floppy hats?

Media outlets have also forgotten that grief can be a quiet, private thing. It doesn’t need to be a performance.

The rolling coverage of people queuing to visit the Queen’s coffin has made me feel uneasy in a way that I can’t fully explain.

The queue itself and the physical discomfort required to stand in line for 14 hours has become a sort of badge of honour with broadcasters.

David Beckham was praised for standing in line with the ordinary people and waiting his turn like everybody else.

This Morning presenters Phillip Schofield and Holly Willoughby became the unlikely villains of the piece for using their VIP status to cut in line.

It was jarring to see them lambasted for exploiting the perks of celebrity to gain advantage over others.

Wait until those angry people on Twitter hear about the privileges being a member of the Royal family gets you ...

The Queen’s funeral will be a spectacle unlike anything we have seen before.

The grief of her family and those who loved her will be acute and raw, as it is when anybody dies.

Once it’s over, and the UK settles back into something approaching normality, there’s plenty to be getting on with.

Politicians put dealing with the cost of living crisis on hold while they worked on carefully crafted statements expressing their grief and shared personal anecdotes of the time they shook the Queen’s hand.

Meanwhile, kids are going to school hungry, parents are skipping meals and some families won’t have the means to heat their homes as autumn approaches.

A country shouldn’t be judged on the pomp and ceremony that marks the death of its head of state, but how it supports all those who are worried about their electricity meter running out as they watch it at home.