WE HAD a pleasant lunch at the White Hart in Dartington last week and sensed a buzz of excitement as we walked through the gates into the courtyard.

The young man behind the bar explained they were all looking forward to tomorrow's royal visit when the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh call in for lunch on their way from Exeter to the chewing gum factory in Plymouth.

Usually on such occasions the bigwigs take over and the locals are kept well in the background. But not at Dartington where, he told me, the workers will join the celebrities at lunch in the Great Hall.

Outside there were signs of regal preparation. Important looking people were in conversation, looking at bits of paper and pointing at things, while a group of hard-working men were on their knees, using hand tools to dig out moss and weeds from the cobblestones.

Not a single stray dandelion will be in view when Her Majesty walks that way. If, as I suspect, a red carpet is laid down, I wouldn't have thought it mattered all that much.

For all that it looks like being a more relaxed occasion than many of the countless royal visits I have attended. As you may have gathered they are not my favourite assignment. The Royals are usually fine. It is the people who have the job of organising their visits who sometimes go over the top.

Reporters chosen to use the strictly-rationed rota passes often receive the honour with sinking hearts. They know they may find themselves corralled into cramped enclosures far from the action and have to play catch up well in the rear of the royal walkabout.

Perfectly decent councillors suddenly become pompous. Policemen you thought were your friends lose their smiles and become neurotic about security. I remember one Royal Show where the press corps were so angered by the way they were ordered about they threatened to down pencils and cameras until there was an improvement. It worked.

Royal visits are good for local business, however, with unexpected profits for clothes shops, especially those specialising in eye-catching dresses and outrageous hats.

Not just the ladies either. We have a family joke about the 'Princess Anne' suit bought to make sure I looked presentable when I showed her round the newsroom at the opening of the BBC studios at Pebble Mill.

It lay, unworn, in the wardrobe for years until we came to Devon and I gave it to a jumble sale. (Whatever happened to those, incidentally? Have they all turned into car boot sales?)

Maybe I am being unfair and unkind. It must be a thankless task organising such an event, trying to anticipate the thousand and one things which might go wrong.

Dartington will be different, I feel sure. If the weather is fine the long drive up to the Great Hall will be lined with cheering people who will talk for years about what they saw.

Even hard bitten reporters, who have seen it all before, may enjoy it if they get a decent lunch.