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Countdown to the royal divorce - part 12

Friday, June 09, 2006


The more informed among you will be aware already of the greatest threat to the nation’s security since the wedding last year. I allude, of course, to the party in the gardens of Buck House in recognition of Liz’s birthday and children’s literature. For fuck’s sake.


The problem, naturally, is Philip. He can’t stand children and he can’t stand books. Ironically, the number of things that the man cannot stand would fill several libraries, but very high on the list are children, with books not far behind.


Ever since the event was announced I have been besieged with requests for assistance. I told Liz when she first telephoned that the matter was quite straightforward. “Just send the old duffer off to open a porridge factory in Harrogate for the day, honeybunch” I said, in my most patronising voice (do these people have no capacity to think for themselves?) “he might even enjoy a day out”. Unfortunately, she took me literally, and that scheme foundered when Phil took exception to something that Geoffrey Boycott said on the long wave cricket commentary, and refuses to go to Yorkshire under any circumstances. Philip actually looks forward to garden parties at the Palace. “Loads of common twats to be rude to”, he chuckles, “none of them with the gumption to say something back”. Although his habit of putting trifle in the Duchess of Kent’s handbag grows more than tiresome. “You should see their fucking faces when she’s just got something from her bag, then has to shake hands with some pleb from West Bromwich or Salford, and they think that her hand is covered in vomit.” Oh dear. I doubt whether the good spirits will last when he finds out that he has to spend the afternoon with hundreds of pre-pubescent subjects and nowhere to escape to. I think we will count ourselves lucky if the number of fatalities remains in single figures. If you are one of the unfortunate parents whose child has been selected to attend, make sure that they are wearing plenty of Kevlar, no matter how hot it is, unless your concern for their wellbeing matches that of Philip.


Camilla has been oddly quiet. On the surface this appears to be good news, but I suspect that she is plotting something. The longer she thinks about it, the more inappropriate it will be. We managed to keep news of her antics at the Italian Embassy out of the media, and the PR people seem to have convinced everyone that the Italian ambassador’s frequent bursting into tears at public events is due to hay fever.


William is off to see England play Paraguay. “I hope I remember which colours our boys are wearing”, he sobs. “Don’t worry Bill, you recognise David Beckham don’t you – he was in that shoelace tying course you went to in Newport last summer?”, “Oh yes, Beckhammy!”, he is very pleased with himself. “Well, Bill, you remember that he plays for Real Madrid now? That means that he now plays for Paraguay at international level.” I may live to regret teaching him to say “the referee’s a wanker” in both Spanish and German, but I care little any more. I have done my best to try to make these people behave with some degree of decorum, but there are limits. I work for months to help them regain the public trust and then some dull tart (in this case the ghastly princess Michael) goes and buggers it all up by telling people that the secret of a successful marriage is to have separate bathrooms and bedrooms. In her case having a bedroom in a separate country might do the trick. Let them eat cake indeed.




zoe said...

this inside knowledge of the germans - ooops, windsors, is most entertaining. although you know fuck all about football.

Friday, June 09, 2006 7:12:00 AM  


Vicus Scurra said...

Zoe, I challenge you to a soccer trivia quiz.

Actually, no I couldn't be bothered. Too difficult to arrange.

wv = ogbway - a very dodgy women's bits department in a private trust hospital.

Friday, June 09, 2006 7:17:00 AM  


KAZ said...

I hear that Prince Philip is the official GOD of some tribe on a Pacific island.

So you can be reassured that your efforts have not been totally in vain.

Friday, June 09, 2006 7:38:00 AM  


Vicus Scurra said...

Kaz: The inhabitants of Yaohnanen live in semi-detached houses with a full set of white goods and satellite TV. Whenever customs report a Daily Mail reporter landing, they get dressed up in Tarzan costumes, get out the photos of Phil, and generally take the piss for the afternoon. They get well paid for doing this. They call him "innoahu", which they tell the DM reporter means "Divine One", but actually means "Sponging geriatric cocksucker".

Friday, June 09, 2006 8:34:00 AM  


Brutus said...

The tactics used by the inhabitants of Yaohnanen are nothing new of course .. Blair churning out his 'I'm just a regular sort of guy' comes to mind and bowels, but its the ex public schoolboys who use the tactics the most when trying to be 'blokes' about football .. the cretinous 'no wat I meen Jimmy' and 'at the end of the day' vernacular being the most common.

wv = zqxlifgw .. name you give German riot police after you regain consciousness

Friday, June 09, 2006 9:45:00 AM  


tom909 said...

Vicus, I don't know how you can spend time socialising with those Royals. What a jumped up load of twats. Every time I read of your experiences it completely and utterly confirms everything I have ever thought about them. It is truly a privilege to have access to such revealing inside information.

Friday, June 09, 2006 10:32:00 AM  


granny p said...

thanks, vicus. Now my dreams are safe at least. (I think.)

Friday, June 09, 2006 10:32:00 AM  


Betty said...

I'm not sure if Philip is still up to attending a garden party, particularly if it's a hot day.

My mother would have said that he is "turning into a proper little old man" these days, and he is starting to look like Young Mr Grace from Are You Being Served.

Carry on, you're all doing very well.

Friday, June 09, 2006 1:08:00 PM  


Frontier Editor said...


You should have recommended that Her Majesty schedule a Blues and Royals barbeque/live fire exercise at Salisbury Plain that same day, send Phillip as referee/honorary roaster, and have the guest bleachers accidentally set up downrange.

But that's just me.

Friday, June 09, 2006 3:59:00 PM  


Cherrypie said...

Has Princess Michael not already found herself a bedroom in another country? I believe there were rumours of Venice and a Muscovite Michael Praed lookalike, but I couldn't be certain.

Oh! Now I've got it! That was you, wasn't it, without the comedy glasses and mad scientist hair-do. Really, Vicus, she was far too old for you anyway.

Friday, June 09, 2006 8:46:00 PM  


raincoaster said...

This is boring.

When are we going to talk about me again?

Friday, June 09, 2006 11:06:00 PM  


Vicus Scurra said...

98.42% of correspondents cannot distinguish between princess Michael of Kent and raincoaster.

Friday, June 09, 2006 11:29:00 PM  


Frontier Editor said...

I can - Princess Michael doesn't say 'eh?'

Saturday, June 10, 2006 12:01:00 AM  


raincoaster said...

and raincoaster doesn't fuck Texans.

Although the Queen's remark, "She's too grand for the likes of us" is allowed to stand in either case.

Saturday, June 10, 2006 12:24:00 AM  


Frontier Editor said...

I like you raincoaster - you have an astute eye for the Lone Star State.

as I'm quite fond of telling some Texans, it took two goofy damn Virginia land speculators to come up with the Republic of Texas.

Saturday, June 10, 2006 2:36:00 AM  


Daphne Wayne-Bough said...

Ah how delightful, somebody who is as obsessed with the goings-on at the Palace as me. I will send you a copy of Points de Vue, Vicus, with lots of obscure Euro-royals you can rant at. You will then see that we in Britain are blessed with the creme de la creme of filthy rich lazy parasites.

My name, by the way, does not rhyme with rainbow. The second part rhymes with muff. It's a very contrived pun - try saying it as the Queen would. Oh god I hate it when I have to explain jokes to the hoi polloi.

Saturday, June 10, 2006 7:41:00 AM  


Vicus Scurra said...

Daphne, I have no idea.

However, your comment about "the hoi polloi" is a bit of a give away. "Hoi polloi" is from the Greek (not that Greek) meaning "the masses", so when the phrase "the hoi polloi" is used, then what is being said is "the the masses". I have no axe to grind with stutterers, but there is no need to transfer that affliction to the written medium.

I say this out of love and concern. There are those who visit here who like nothing better to make cruel remarks about the use of language, rather than debate the wisdom that issues from the contents. Even now there are dozens of those with nothing better to do looking for a mistake in this comment.

Saturday, June 10, 2006 8:24:00 AM  


Interpreter Pavlov said...

Vicus, I'm proud of you. It's a rightdown regular royal privilege to be in the company of a man who knows the nominative masculine plural of the Greek definite article.

Is it just a rumour that you're popularly known as the John Frum of your vicus?

Saturday, June 10, 2006 10:27:00 AM  


Vicus Scurra said...

Alas, IP, no. In my village, those who take any notice of me refer to me as "that fat bastard". I believe this is a similar relationship in North East Hampshire as the one that exists between Pacific Islanders and their Gods.

Saturday, June 10, 2006 10:59:00 AM  


Vicus Scurra said...

Hey Daphne!

I geddit!

Wine buff!

Pity. I prefer anachronistic hippies to dreary alcoholics.

Nevertheless, it is nice of you to contribute.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006 12:12:00 PM

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