I've attended state banquets in my time - and I can't blame Jeremy Corbyn for avoiding this one

Jeremy Corbyn is snubbing the state banquet for Donald Trump. He is wise to do so. Not because Corbyn has never broken bread with odious, racist, misogynist politicians. Like Her Majesty and any British prime minister or foreign secretary, meeting and greeting boors, bigots and assorted bastards is just part of the job.

The main reason for dissing the state banquet is its stellar levels of tedium, bad food and the British establishment at its most ludicrous. As a Foreign Office minister I had to do my share, and always felt deeply sorry for HM and assorted other royals whose faces, set in that rictus royal smile, said why “oh why can’t I have my feet up watching re-runs of Dad’s Army or Morecombe and Wise in the royal apartments”.

The Foreign Office once rushed the cast of Les Mis down to Windsor to honour a state visit of President Chirac. The French president loathed musicals. The weather was atrocious, everyone was late to arrive. The speeches were too long, and few of the British dignatories were up to understanding French.

Then when the evening was over, we were all ushered into an adjoining room to sit in rows of seats while a medley of Les Mis songs were sung. Chirac promptly fell asleep. The Queen sat stiff-backed.

The focal point of the musical is the “glorious days” of the Revolution of 1830, and, when it is performed, a giant tricolour is usually waved over the stage as the last big song is belted out. But this was a UK state visit, so alongside the bleu-blanc-rouge of France, the cast were made to wave an even bigger Union Jack from the other side of the stage. It was utterly preposterous. Chirac woke up with a start to see this bonkers spectacle before his eyes.

For some, the chance to dress up in white tie and tails and put on all the decorations that are dished out by foreign governments is the treat. Papal knights come in green velvet knickerbocker suits. The Generals adore these events as they don their epaulettes, golden drooping lanyards, gaudy stripes up and down their trouser legs, and medals galore clattering.

Only the principals are allowed to speak. When my mobile went off, a lady-in-waiting turned to me and snapped: “You are not going to answer that thing in front of Her Majesty, are you Minister?”. I have done my time in different prisons in different countries, but quite clearly the doors to the Tower were about to open – not that HM, some way away, would have heard or cared.

The food is lukewarm and served on giant gold serving plates. There is a footman behind each guest to make sure no-one slips a gold knife or spoon into a pocket.

At one dinner, a kind of rolled lemon sole in a bland white sauce was served as a starter. The foreign state banquet guests shovelled several on to their plates, as everyone was starving. I copied them, but got a hiss in my ear from the Palace waitress, “It is one portion per person, Minister”, so I pushed my extra fish back onto the serving plate and waited hungrily for the half-cold main course.

At another memorable point in the evening, I was in a conversation group with Tony Blair and Arsene Wenger and heard the prime minister say “ So in your job you are only as good as your last game,” to which the Arsenal manager gave his gracious assent.

I butted in with a boot-lick: “Unlike you Prime Minister, you only have to perform well and win every 4 or 5 years.”

“No, Denis, it’s every week at midday on Wednesday,” was Blair’s icy reply. I could feel myself sliding down the greasy pole and said no more.

President Trump will have his  small talk notes for the Queen, and the photos will look good across the Atlantic. But I bet even he would prefer to be in bed eating a platter of cheese-burgers and watching Fox News.

As for the Queen, she has made many sacrifices for her country, but state banquets must be close to top of the list.