When something starts to be said with such frequency that it fast becomes the conventional wisdom, one should pause, step back and give it a second thought. In almost every ‘Advice to King Charles’ column I’ve read, and in broadcast commentary too, the same piece of wisdom is being repeated: the new King must now distance himself from his own strong opinions on a range of subjects, and assume an air of neutrality on anything remotely controversial or ‘political’. He must forget, and we must forget, that he once had beliefs.

‘You can do it, Charles,’ we’ve been saying. ‘You can wipe your personal software of all that clutter, empty your personality of its guiding beliefs and passions, and achieve a zen-like absence of commitment to anything but being a dignified and regal blank slate.

So it’s farewell, your Majesty (we say – and I’ve heard myself saying it too); to the Charles who talked to trees, hated having to cosy up to bloodthirsty dictators, and was passionately attached to hopes of saving the planet from global warming; the Charles with strong views about architecture and holistic housing; the Charles with a range of altruistic pet projects that he was never hesitant about promoting; the Charles who privately exploded with indignation at the idea of transporting asylum-seekers to Rwanda. All these versions of a man, a man we half-thought we’d got to know, must now (we say) be consigned to history. That was the Prince of Wales. Here, now, is King Charles III. The Prince is dead. Long live the King.

Well I’m having second thoughts. I yield to none in my respect for the late Queen Elizabeth II. I admire the way that any thought or opinion she might have entertained seemed to be subordinated to her royal duty of neutrality. Over her 70 turbulent years as monarch, years in which her country changed almost beyond recognition, perhaps it was necessary to have a head of state with no observable opinions.

And anyway it probably went with the grain of her own character. She appeared to be only very mildly attached to ideas and arguments, only mildly if dutifully engaged with political developments. Maybe it suited a person for whom current affairs and the news agenda exercised her less than the things she really loved: horses, dogs, the countryside. In that sense, she was born to be – in matters of politics and policy – neutral. Perhaps it came easily to her. Perhaps she was even glad of the excuse not to have an opinion.

Charles is different. There is simply no point in our supposing he could ever purge himself of points of view. Already we’re aware what many of his opinions are, and I’ve indicated a few. And I’ve fallen in recent days to thinking: isn’t this rather refreshing? Isn’t there a place for different kinds of monarch, some with stronger opinions than others?

Do not misunderstand me. A king cannot be a campaigner; and if a lobbyist, the lobbying must be very, very discreet. A king cannot publicly take sides and for Charles activism must stop completely, as I’m sure he knows better than any of us. A king, too, must do the bidding of whatever government is in power. He must read the King’s Speech to parliament, setting out, deadpan, what ‘my government’ will do. He must meet and greet foreign heads of state, whatever his opinion of them. He must cut ribbons on projects of which he may disapprove. And if the government should bring in legislation to expedite the slaughter of the firstborn, he must grit his teeth and sign it.

But may we not hear the gritting of teeth? May we not see in the King’s sometimes agonised features his distress at some of the policies which he must officially approve? May we not know – through the most discreet of hints – that it disgusts him to shake hands with murderers? May those who share his views on global warming and the need for action not take pleasure in slight indications that privately, and passionately, our King agrees with them?

I was only a boy, a boy whose early years had been spent in Cyprus, when Queen Elizabeth took tea with Archbishop Makarios. The wily old fox had – by his silence and by his archiepiscopal associations – been indirectly implicated in the murder of many soldiers fighting to maintain British colonial rule on the island. But now Britain had effectively given in and let go, and wished in future for good relations with the new Greek Cypriot government; and the Queen had to play her part. So of course she had to take tea with the former enemy. But if for a moment we had thought she did it with anything except inward pain and concealed disgust, she would have been diminished as a monarch. There is the monarch we can see, and there is the monarch we can imagine.

I hope the new King will not let go of the Charles we imagine. I’d be sad were he to disavow the Prince of Wales we half-thought we knew. I understand that it’s a tightrope. I understand that it must be done by nods and winks and perhaps the occasional leak of private remarks. I realise the outward appearance must be of neutrality, and I’m not suggesting statements or declarations of any kind.

But there is a Charles who had those opinions and attachments – some of them to our liking, some of them, for some of us, possibly not – and whose perceptiveness and patent sincerity we’d been increasingly recognising: a Prince in many ways ahead of his time. To be king is different, I appreciate, but he will be the same man. Is it wrong, is it unconstitutional, to hope that, despite the terrible pressures he will soon be under, Charles will be able to remain true to himself?