Rob Golledge: I'll never forget that magical moment I met our fine Queen

When the moment came it was, well, all rather awkward. I was trying to keep out of the way and backed myself into a dark corner of the JLR engine plant on the edge of Wolverhampton.

Head down, I was looking at the bulging convex reflection of my face in my freshly polished shoes when a pair of size fours walked into shot.

I looked up, and to my absolute horror and surprise, there was Her Majesty probably curiously wondering who this strange man was in front of her.

The next minute felt like an hour as 'Brenda' and I stood no more than a couple of feet apart.

I did not know where to look, what to do, or what to say.

I was lost, embarrassed, and uncomfortable.

Now, I'm not the sort of chap who gets fazed by meeting the famous or powerful or even testing situations.

After all, it comes with the job.

I've taken the Chancellor to task, had a machine gun thrust in my face in Africa, and been called all the rude words under the sun – all in the line of duty.

But when you come within touching distance of the Queen, I felt a kind of fear I have never encountered before.

Maybe fear is not the best way to describe the feeling.

It was just all so unexpected and for a brief time I was slightly terrified.

Of course I expected to see her, but I did not anticipate finding myself in the middle of what to everyone else present would have looked like a three-way conversation between Her Majesty, the chief executive of JLR Dr Ralf Speth, and, err, me, the reporter from the local newspaper.

You see, Her Majesty was there to officially open the car firm's impressive £500 million factory.

I had explained to the Royal press officer I wanted to be able to speak to the various dignitaries and staff who had spoken with the Queen. So I was advised to stand to the side and, importantly 'keep out of the way'.

Little did I know that Dr Speth would lead the Monarch in my direction and have a conversation in front of me.

Really I needn't have been worried.

After the initial granny stare that Her Majesty gave me she smiled and our eyes met in one of those moments I know I will never forget.

Now at ease, I gave a slight half-nod of the head and attempted a half-bow gesture. I must have looked a complete prat. Don't get me wrong, I looked smart. I even dusted down the waistcoat for the occasion.

But I must have resembled something between Bertie Wooster and Mr Bean.

What a way to meet the Queen – and not just any Queen, possibly the greatest Monarch in our history.

One was not amused.

As I have explained, I'm not one who gets nervous in these sorts of situations.

But I don't care if you are Barack Obama, Jean-Claude Van Damme, or the President of China, it doesn't matter how mean, tough or confident you are, being in the presence of the Queen carries a unequalled mystique.

This tiny, 90-year-old great-grandmother is a towering giant.

Of all the figureheads in the world, she stands head and shoulders above them.

She's been a steadfast servant to this nation and the Commonwealth. She has overseen unprecedented change in her own family, and the family of the world. And despite some dark days, she has carried herself with dignity.

Being in her presence for just a matter of minutes really was something else.

I would challenge the most strident republican to meet her and then say there is nothing special about her.

For all the anti-monarchy talk, and let's be real it is rather odd that one family above all else have this unique and privileged position in society, who else would you want to do the Queen's job?

A British President?

And who would that be?

President Blair has a certain ring to it.

Imagine the scenes.

Just picture the smarmy smile on our Tony's face as he welcomes world leaders to the United Kingdom before whizzing them off in the Presidential motorcade through the golden gates of Buckingham Palace.

Rather than scenes of jubilation and patriotism, we would be further mired in the world of party politics. The Mall would become filled not with patriotic party-goers singing God Save the Queen but a baying mob of protesters calling for Blair's head.

And who else would have the good grace and work rate to attended hundreds of engagements a year?

How would someone like Mr Blair really feel going to every nook and cranny of the country and having to visit real people?

Given the option of Her Maj or the Presidential alternative, I know which I would rather choose.

Which makes you wonder what must it be like to be the Queen?

I like the idea of wearing a crown.

One of my favourite days of the year is Christmas Day, not because of the presents, but because I can sit at the head of the table with a paper hat and banquet of good food and drink.

Even I admit there is only so much bling you can wear before it gets boring.

And I don't like the idea of conducting the State Opening of Parliament every year.

The Queen is no mug and she knows she is repeating empty promise after empty promise.

Personally I think the likes of Henry VIII had much more fun.

The size of his dinners, check.

Absolute power, check.

Chopping off your ex's head, check.

They really were the golden days. . .

Meanwhile back in reality there is a serious point to this – who really would want to do her job?

And who would really be able to do it in the manner she has?

The aura that emanates from Her Majesty is not simply down to who she is. It's because of what she represents: an abiding sense of duty and service, the compassionate face of the country and commonwealth, and, above all else, decency and humanity.

The reason I trembled with nerves when I briefly sort of met her, was because I could feel that she had been touched by greatness.

She is the bastion and mother of our United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

And long may she reign.