Allegations that the BBC is part of an international Marxist conspiracy have always seemed to me to be the feverish product of demented rightwing imagination. An organisation which cannot arrange taxis to take home Newsnight contributors is unlikely to play a significant part in a plot to take over the world. But last Wednesday night - just for a moment - I wondered if the hidden hand of anarchy had organised its coverage of the Missing Golden Jubilee Street Party Sensation. All the people who were invited to reassure an anxious country that the bunting would be put up in the nick of time were exactly the sort of characters calculated to dampen the festive spirit for ever. Prominent among them was Lord St John of Fawsley (n Norman St John-Stevas) who was introduced as a friend of the royal family. He was loquaciously supported by Nicholas Soames, the Prince of Wales's fox-hunting friend and Lord Sterling, the chairman of the P&amp;O shipping line and the man billed as organising the days (or is it weeks?) of national rejoicing. None of them showed the slightest understanding of why enthusiasm is in such short supply.  Their certainty that it would be all right on the night - and presumably during the day when the balloons are released and fish paste sandwiches handed round - was based on the conviction that Her Majesty's loyal subjects are notoriously indolent folk who, reminded of their duty by men of officer calibre, would rise to the occasion. After all, we were not prepared for war in either 1914 or 1939. But, in the end, we triumphed over adversity. There was some suggestion that the local government street party regulations were more formidable than the Wehrmacht. But, given the right leadership, Tommy Atkins and his pals would win through.  The truth is that the whole idea of golden jubilee celebrations is out of date. It is part of the myth of Merrie England - cheerful cockney sparrows doing the Lambeth Walk and lads and lassies from Lancashire clog dancing. Apparently both those rituals were a feature of George V's silver jubilee in 1935, when more sensitive citizens chose to celebrate Sheffield Wednesday winning the cup. This year, the only Pearly Kings that we are likely to see will be wheeled out for foreign television reports on the quaint habits of Olde England. On the Queen's silver jubilee, that ancient country had not quite disappeared into a haze of email messages, continental holidays, designer jeans and digital television. It has now.  The idea of a jubilee, in which the people carefully organise spontaneous cele brations of love and loyalty, is simply old-fashioned. The torpor which follows its every mention has, much to my regret, little or nothing to do with a sudden increase in opposition to the monarchy. Support for a grown-up constitution is growing. But there is nothing like a majority for a republic. There is, however, a general inclination to behave in a way which is consistent with 21st-century realities. Cardboard policemen's helmets, with "God Save the Queen" instead of "Kiss Me Quick" across the front went out when Channel 4 and discotheques came in.  There was much to be said in favour of the lost age of innocence. Not the least of its virtues was the spirit of community that made the street parties, the recreation ground bonfires and the community association dances possible. A young mother, cross-examined on television about her failure to organise any events, explained that, since she did not know her neighbours' names, the task was beyond her. I regret the passing of the old spirit of comradeship and   concern. But it has happened and Lords Fawsley and Sterling, even assisted by Mr Soames, are no more likely to recreate it for a day than they are to spend more than a fleeting photo-opportunity at a street party themselves.  Frankly I resent them making the attempt - partly because the careless individualism which has taken its place has been ruthlessly promoted by their class and their political party. But my real objection is to the impertinence of their approach. The nobs telling the proles where their duty lies is always an unpleasant sight - especially when the message is to "show proper respect". There will be no more patronising display this year than the triple assurance that the working classes (although a bit slow to understand) have their hearts in the right place.  I will bet my bottom euro that, when the time comes, the working classes will feel quite well disposed towards the Queen and think that she should be congratulated on 50 years of meritorious service. But, God willing, they will not perform like characters from one of those gritty industrial novels which were so popular when Her Majesty was crowned. The anachronisms can be safely left to Mr Soames and Lords Sterling and Fawsley.