And it mattered last week when it brought back five bodies from Iraq. Their coffins were correctly draped with the Union Jack. The marching was perfect, the medals were gleaming and the musical laments on cue; a triumph of order and honour over the horror, pain and chaos of the battlefield. Package it all with the ancient traditions of pomp, ceremony and eulogy and show a stiff upper lip at all times.

For the anti-war, bring back the troops, end the war lobby, last week's coffins should have strengthened their argument about the uselessness of this war. Instead, the cold formal atmosphere of the occasion served to underline the determination of Tony Blair's government to persist with it and in their words, "see it through to the end".

This business-like business as usual approach is best summarised by the continued refusal of the Prime Minister to meet relatives of those killed in Iraq. All that pomp and ceremony is more than mere military discipline. It has real purpose; it allows reality, sentiment and tears to be kept at bay.

So have Prince Charles and Camilla walked into a bit of minefield by inviting the relatives to their home for a reception? Of course everyone says it is not a political gesture but a humanitarian one. Quite! But no amount of cream cake and bone china at Highgrove House will force a government u-turn as the Prince's actions can always be sidelined precisely because he is the Prince.

Like his famous predecessor, this Prime Minister is not for turning either. In fact, he is extending his battle ground literally by sending additional troops to Afghanistan and again promising that they will be there "for the long haul". And Italian Prime Minister Romano Prodi's argument that terrorism has found a new base in Iraq is clearly not swaying Mr Blair's determination. One imagines that new statistics from Iraq showing that almost two million people are poised to leave the country because of the chaos will have no impact either.

Unless of course, they all land up on these shores, in which case a whole new format for Big Brother could be invented!

Call it, well, call it Big Brother but instead of locking them up for 13 weeks in a house with mirrors everywhere and underwater cameras in the swimming pool, lock them up for 13 years and film their every move.

At least then there would be a guarantee of sex and insanity. And every year, at the end of Ramadan, the fasting season, there would be a gold exit ticket in one bar of Kit Kat and the lucky chocolate-eater would be sent back to Iraq. Of course, Kit Kat eating would be compulsory for the relevant period!

And instead of replying "I haven't the faintest idea" to the question about illegal immigrants, the Home Office official could say they are all under the careful eye of Big Brother. Not that the programme needs that kind of justification for its existence.

A quick look at how it has dominated the news in the past few days shows just how accepted it is.

Never mind the dead British soldiers.

Several front pages have bypassed the coffins in favour of the household's oddballs, sex models, party girls and transvestites and will follow their fortunes with indecent interest for the whole summer. And when the golden Kit Kat ticket is won, the frenzy will generate whole swathes of newsprint which will certainly knock any war stories into the middle end pages.

All in all, it is quite convenient for the man who will not turn on the war. There is less reason to turn when there is no pressure to turn.

And there is no pressure to turn if the story is off centre, off agenda, buried. Tony Blair may not eat Kit Kats but no prizes for guessing what his biscuit of choice is right now. It's the one with the golden lining.