This week a sweet old man with a friendly smile, a ruddy complexion and the sort of ears that can entertain a toddler for hours, and his wife, a woman who appears constantly worried that she's come out of the toilet with her skirt tucked into her undies, will be moving around the country, looking for all the world like they're judging a perpetual garden show.
Words often used to describe the Queen and her eldest son are "harmless", "switched-on" and "hardworking". That is why citizens of this country tolerate the notion that someone half a world away will be our head of state due to an accident of birth.
Prince Charles, the plant whisperer, falls into that rapidly growing category of people who were "greenie before it was trendy" and have "always been a bit of an environmentalist in my own way". Good for him. But he has also been revealed over the past seven years to be someone obsessed with secrecy and whose dealings with the British government tread a very fine constitutional line at best.
He has gone to great legal lengths to prevent publication - sought by the Guardian newspaper under official information legislation - of 27 letters written to MPs lobbying over matters close to his heart. Topics included, according to testimony by law professor Adam Tomkins, "the perceived merits of holistic medicine, the perceived evils of genetically modified crops, the apparent dangers of making cuts in the armed forces, his strong dislike of certain forms of architecture".
The merits of his opinions are not the issue. The issue is that he is attempting to influence politicians - something which, as monarch, he will be prohibited from doing - and does not want the British public to know this.