We didn't see a kiss, nor the moment they were legally married - but we did at least catch a glimpse into the future. On Saturday we saw the court of Charles III. The wedding of the Prince of Wales to Camilla Parker Bowles was the most public gathering yet for a new establishment in waiting, the men and women who surround the man who would be king. From my perch on the roof of the Guard Room, inside the ramparts of Windsor Castle, I counted them in and counted them out.  They were easy to spot because they fitted none of the other more formal categories. They were not governors-general of remote commonwealth nations, nor serene highnesses from faraway royal dynasties. They were not "great officers of state" - though the Master of the Horse was there, of course, along with the Lord Chamberlain and the Marquess of Cholmondeley. (This may be the 21st century but these people all still exist.)  Nor were they party leaders, all of whom chose to Gordon Brown it and wear lounge suits rather than the morning dress adopted by almost every other man present. Ever since the chancellor eschewed white tie for his Mansion House speech in 1997, politicians seem to have developed an allergy to over-frilly get-up - perhaps fearing it will dent their democratic credentials. Not that this precaution did Tony Blair much good: he got booed as he arrived at St George's Chapel.  No, the new courtiers were a category unto themselves. They were people whose name and fame had been earned rather than inherited and who would be recognisable to those who do not count the court circular among their bedtime reading.  Leading them were the theatrical folk: Stephen Fry, Meera Syal, Sanjeev Bhaskar, Rowan Atkinson, Prunella Scales, Timothy West (who delivered a Wordsworth poem at the service), Joanna Lumley (who seems to have "The Lovely" attached to her name, rather in the manner of a royal title), Edward Fox, John Mortimer, Kenneth Branagh, Jools Holland, Richard E Grant, Trudi Styler and playwright Ronnie Harwood. TV celebrity Tara Palmer-Tomkinson was a crowd-pleasing addition, sashaying into the chapel as if it were a catwalk. As one commentator quipped drily, it was more Hello! than Debretts.  Non-showbiz courtiers were there, too: loyal interviewer Jonathan Dimbleby, knighted green Sir Jonathon Porritt, schools scourge Chris Woodhead (in lounge suit). And, moving effortlessly between them all, the media grandees Lords Bragg and Rees-Mogg and Sir David Frost.  What, one began to wonder, might connect this illustrious group? What common set of traits might come to define this future Carolinian court?  It is clearly not the rigid, snobbish aristocracy of the late Queen Mother's Gosford Park set, nor the horse-obsessed tedium of the Queen's world. But nor is it the mass-appeal, Mail-reading sensibility of Diana - though, it cannot be denied, Phil Collins was in the church on Saturday.  Instead, Charles's preference seems to be for upper crust with a twist. Thus he likes actors, as royals have before - but he includes one who is openly gay and two who are Asian, in the form of Fry, Syal and Bhaskar. He includes a grand old man of letters in his circle but his choice, John Mortimer, is an avowed socialist. He has a thriller writer close by, but while the Queen Mum had a weakness for Dick Francis, Charles opts for the more cerebral and Labour-supporting Robert Harris.  Most typically, he counts as a friend a pillar of the broadcasting establishment - yet Jonathan Dimbleby is also president of the Soil Association. That seems to capture the defining feature of the Charles court. They are pukka and top drawer, but with a teeny-weeny, alternative streak. They are posh - but organic posh.  The wedding itself fit that bill - still a royal event, but less formal than most. So the two families travelled around in white, hired minibuses - bearing the corporate logo of Windsorian, which might be a brand name for the day the royals are privatised - princes and princesses ferried about like football teams arriving for a cup final. In an inadvertently populist touch, Zara Phillips, daughter of Princess Anne, spotted herself on one of the giant TV monitors and pointed - just as the regular folk in the crowd had been doing all afternoon.  Still, some traditions were maintained. The prince and his new duchess had invited representatives of their pet charities to share their special day. Except these footsoldiers for groups like the British Horse Loggers, the Poultry Club of Great Britain and the Specialist Cheesemakers' Association were not exactly invited to the wedding, though many of them were fully dressed for the occasion. Rather, their tickets entitled them to stand outside in an enclosure, fending off the April chill for three and a half hours as they waited for the newlyweds to emerge.  Still, they didn't seem to mind. David Yendoll of the St Mary's Priory Trust had driven from Abergavenny: he thought it marvellous that people like him, "the great unwashed were given orders of service, so that we could follow and join in".  Equally, for all the prince's insistence that he wants to be "defender of faiths" and leader of a multicultural Britain, the only religious representatives listed were Anglicans. The message seemed pretty clear: Charles may have the odd interesting friend, but he is still who he is.  As always, this royal event will be seized on as a useful window into the kind of country Britain is becoming. What did we see on Saturday? A country that is less stuffy and formal: note William and Harry's daubing of "Prince and Duchess", a la Kevin and Tracey, on the couple's car windscreen. And a country that has made its peace with divorce. There was some loud booing when Charles and Camilla arrived for the legal ceremony, but that came from a few diehard Diana-ites. Most were forgiving, happy to allow a middle-aged couple a second chance. In the words of Anne Gillott from Winchester, "If William and Harry have adapted, who am I to judge?"  But this spirit of tolerance should not be misunderstood. For much of it is indifference. The crowds in Windsor were thin, not much bigger than in the centre of any busy market town on a Saturday. When they tried to raise three cheers for the couple during the walkabout, they could only muster two. Radio 5 Live, which knows its audience well, cut short its wedding coverage to switch to Aintree in advance of the Grand National.  There was a time when the BBC would never have dared such a thing, but Britain is a different country now. Twenty-five years ago, the closure of a big car plant could have brought down the government. Not many think Rover will do that now. A quarter century ago, Britons would not have reacted so strongly to the death of a pope. We're different now.  Perhaps this is why the Queen and the Archbishop of Canterbury seemed so oddly detached from the proceedings on Saturday. Perhaps they realise these current trends do not augur happily for either of the institutions they lead. This weekend the new ethos served Charles well - it shrugged its shoulders and allowed him to do what he wants - but, one day, King Charles may come to lament the very same change.