The archbishop shook his head and went back to Strictly Come Dancing.

I finished The Uncommon Reader by Alan Bennett a few months ago.  A delightful and subtly clever humorous piece.  The basis of the story is the supposition of what would happen if late in life Queen Elizabeth had become an enthusiastic reader.  Charming.

Encouraged by the reception given to her Christmas broadcast, she persisted with her notion of reading in public, and late one night, as she closed her book on the Elizabethan Settlement, it occurred to her to ring the Archbishop of Canterbury.

There was a pause while he turned down the TV.

'Archbishop. Why do I never read the lesson?'

'I beg your pardon, ma'am?'

'In church. Everybody else gets to read and one never does. It's not laid down, is it? It's not off-limits?'

'Not that I'm aware, ma'am.'

'Good. Well in that case I'm going to start. Leviticus, here I come. Goodnight.' The archbishop shook his head and went back to Strictly Come Dancing.

But thereafter, particularly when she was in Norfolk, or even in Scotland, Her Majesty began to do a regular stint at the lectern. And not merely the lectern. Visiting a Norfolk primary school, she sat down on a classroom chair and read a story from Babar for the children. Addressing a City banquet, she treated them to a Betjeman poem, impromptu departures from her schedule which enchanted everyone except Sir Kevin, from whom she hadn't bothered to get clearance.