Well, what a weekend. I sometimes think that I am too kind by nature, and need to
adopt a more abrasive approach to those who believe that they cannot do without my
I made the mistake, early on, of not switching my telephone off on Saturday morning,
and had to deal with a stream of assorted Windsors and Parker-Bowles in various states
of panic about the damned wedding. I had already made it clear that I would not be
attending, and that they should learn to fend for themselves, but no detail was too
trivial to lead them to think it needed my attention. William, our future King Thicky
the First, is top of the list. “I didn’t get invited to the rehearsal”, this at 4:45
in the morning. “It isn’t you who is getting married Bill, you soft sod,” I admonished,
“when it is your turn you will probably have someone there to tell you. If you get
to the stage where there is some unbelievably thick bimbo escorting you wherever
you go, it is a sign that your family have found a suitable mate, and that should
give you a clue.” Harry has the idea of revenge, following the episode where a congress
of Parker-Bowles pinned the motto “arsehole in chief” to his back during the last
wedding, and only clever editing by the BBC prevented it from being broadcast. He
wants help from me, inevitably. “Use your imagination, young Henry,” I tell him wearily,
“if there is one thing you should have taken from your time at Eton, it is the ability
to take the piss.” I make oblique references to pageboys and laxative chocolate,
and hope that he takes the hint, but am not too optimistic. Then I get a call from
Camilla asking why I told Harry to dress up as a page boy, and smear his face with
Toblerone. I told her that it was a tradition in Henley, which, unsurprisingly, she
accepted without any argument.
I turned the telephone off, to watch the cricket and rugby, and “forgot” to switch
on the answering machine.
The next ordeal is the nonsense surrounding the preparations for Harry’s 21st. I
told Charles to lock the silly little bugger in the Tower for a week as the only
way to prevent all of the bad publicity that it is going to generate.
a good mate of mine used to buy cocaine from parker-bowles Junior. thought that would
come in useful one day towards your outrageous hallucinations with the royals.
Monday, September 12, 2005 7:25:00 PM
Hope you are pleased with England's win at The Ashes today?
And...oh my, but if you didn't get 50, count 'em 50 comments on your recognition
of my blog site. I'd say approximately 45 of them went off target, but what the hell.
It's nice to have talked to you again, you old curmudgeon, you.
Monday, September 12, 2005 7:56:00 PM
Wot wedding? We can't get Hello! here.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005 10:34:00 PM
Vicus Scurra said...
Apparently, Zoe's pusher got hitched to some tart. I dunno, I was watching cricket.