The view from the streets: 'The Queen does a fine job, but Prince Charles is doing everything wrong'

Even for the Queen, a woman famous for her dedication to duty, yesterday morning must have been one when she felt reluctant to emerge from under the royal duvet.

The screaming headlines spoke of inquiries into royal cover-ups, sexual assaults and financial impropriety. And there was the State Opening of Parliament, again, under a slate grey sky and with the promise of more rain.

So as she boarded the black and gold liveried coach that would take her down Whitehall to the Houses of Parliament to read once again some of Alastair Campbell's finest words, the Queen must have hoped for a cheery crowd to lift her spirits. Well up to a point, that was what she got. A scattering of tourists and curious office workers were swelled by a few hardy regulars, but it was hardly the fevered stuff of royal events of the past – no bunting, or Union Flag bowler hats. The golden jubilee and Brian May on her roof must have seemed a long time ago.

At least she could draw some comfort from Violet Walton, 78, from Enfield, north London, a regular at such events. "I think that the Queen does a grand job – it's just that children don't always do what you want them to do. I'm a mother so I know all about it. She's suffered, hasn't she?

"But Charles has made it worse. He's done everything wrong. I'd like Prince William to take over now.''

This was a view shared by many of those huddled against the barriers at the corner of Whitehall and Parliament Square. Sheltering from the wind and the rain, the tourists and locals alike felt that the Queen was basically OK, had done a good job, but had been grievously let down by a combination of her family, her courtiers and her loyal subjects in the Fourth Estate.

"Poor woman, I don't think she knows what's going on. It's all those courtiers, they are all to blame,'' said Jean Desmond, up from Bournemouth to lunch and shop with three friends. Her companion Moira Cradduck, gesturing at the House of Commons, said: "What has gone on in the Palace is not as bad as what's gone on over there.''

A slimmed-down procession made its way towards the House. A few coaches, a couple of groups of Horse Guards and some mounted police officers. The Queen and her husband did that curious stiff-armed waving thing, which seemed to please the crowd, but the response was muted. Several of the coaches carrying chaps with red coats and white gloves had their own liveried footmen on the back. One was irresistibly drawn to wonder which was Special Branch and which one would be the next to have their features emblazoned across the tabloids.

"But they do it so well, don't they?'' said Winifred Jennings, 82, from east London. "I love all the pomp and circumstance. They do keep the Crown Jewels so polished and lovely. The Queen has done her best, it's her family and underlings that have let her down.

"I don't like Charles, he's too wishy-washy. He should not go on the throne, if we can't have Princess Anne we should have Prince William and get a whole new generation."

Just about the only trace of excitement were the shrieks from a group of four visitors from the United States. "I got her, she looked straight at me. It was fantastic,'' said a breathless Robin German, brandishing her Nikon. For these women the sleaze, gossip and scandal were all, one sensed, not relevant.

"I just love all the pageantry, the horses and the coaches. We've nothing like it in our own country. It's all so false and Hollywood,'' said Ashley Winkleman, a flight attendant from North Carolina. "This is just so, so great. Look,'' she shrieked, "the crown.''

Across the river in Hopton Street, Southwark, the Queen's son and heir is visiting some almshouses; local jobs for local people, the kind of thing the Royals do with their eyes closed. There wasn't much pomp and circumstance, just some official cars, and the Mayor of Southwark had the only pennant – and a couple of police outriders attracted half a dozen or so onlookers.

"Who's that, then?'' asked Bradley Roberts, 20, clutching his can of pop. "Charles, is it? Should be abolished, shouldn't he? What's been appearing in the papers makes it much more likely.''

"They're a waste of time,'' agreed his friend Fred Smith, 20, drawing on his roll-up, before adding reflectively: "They are just a typical family, of course, even if they are the most famous one."

The Prince of Wales emerges with the familiar stiff walk, one hand in his jacket pocket. The door of his royal Audi is opened for him. As he begins to get in he seems to notice the scattered gathering, some still clutching lunchtime sandwiches, and briefly looks around before the hand comes up with a strange fluttering movement that is meant to be friendly, but is somehow dismissive, and he is swept away. The police car following has a sign in the rear flashing "Police – Keep Back'' to the emptying street.