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Countdown to the royal divorce - part 14

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

 

As I have mentioned before this time of year is particularly tiresome as I am inundated with invitations to spend Christmas at Sandringham.

 

One year, to get away from it all, I actually spent the holiday season at Windsor Castle. It was a tad inconvenient, but at least the telephone was not ringing every five minutes. They did not think of looking for me there. (That reminds me, did I remember to switch off the electric blanket?).

 

Ever since Caroline of Ansbach beat George II at Scrabble and thereby indirectly caused the battle of Dettingen, it has been seen to be necessary for members of the royal family to be married to those less intellectually endowed than themselves. As generations of British idiots have been selected as hide-the-sausage partners for the royal house, there has been a diminution of mental prowess in succeeding generations, thereby making the “find a thicky” quest all the more difficult.

 

We should therefore congratulate prince Philip, whose task it has been to oversee the selection of prize fruitcakes as suitable mates for his offspring. In two cases (so far) he has had to go through the process twice.

 

Diana sometimes suspected that she was being made fun of, and would sulk, on one occasion Philip sent her to the kitchen for a “long weight”. That sort of thing. Philip is not so pleased with Camilla, because she thinks that everything that happens is a jape anyway, and guffaws like a herniated gibbon even when she is the butt of the joke. They had to drug her, apparently, to get her through the wedding without screeching. She was convinced that the ABofC was, in fact, Jeremy Beadle.

 

Duchess Fergie was a godsend. They had almost given up finding anyone more stupid than Andrew, but the British aristocracy can always be relied upon. It will be much more difficult should they try to find another for him. I am afraid they will have to follow the William route and go down-market. If anyone knows of a grade A airhead in need of a few bob, who wouldn’t mind putting up with a throwback for a husband, and could open a couple of playschools in Denbighshire each year, at a push, then let me know, and I will put the name forward.

 

Sophie Wessex and Dim Tim are quite unremarkable. They can sit for hours staring into space, and seem quite happy doing it. Philip has been known to use Admiral Laurence as a hat-stand. The poor chap doesn’t mind, but is not quite up to the job. Hats fall off whenever anyone walks past, because Tim salutes them.

 

But it was in the selection of the first partner that Philip excelled himself. Auberon Waugh used to say, and who are we to argue, that if you whistled, Mark Phillips would wet himself. I have never seen evidence of that. There is a rumour that his family were thinking of having him melted down and used as fertiliser, but he was saved that fate, and instead married to Anne. Phillips could trace his ancestry back, after only three generations, to a sheep named Trevor. Well, when I say he could trace his ancestry, that is a little unfair, he had to have someone do it for him. Philip was delighted with his choice, and never tired of making fun of Mark. Insisting on serving lamb for dinner was a game that he never tired of, and would repeatedly ask the boy about his family until the plates were empty.

 

I was with Phil and Liz as they watched the culmination of all of this at the weekend as dear Zara was presented with the BBC Sports Personality of the Year award. I have never seen Philip laugh so much, apart from, perhaps, that unfortunate incident with the queen mother and the fishbone. Liz kept up a commentary throughout. She had been amused by an article in the Telegraph a couple of weeks ago that referred to the ‘estuarisation’ of her accent. She can, of course, mimic almost anyone, and was in her element with Zara. (After the programme finished, she fished the speech from the latest opening of parliament out of her handbag, and rendered it into Zaraese; “My government are like, wow, amazing, yeah – we are toadally going to revise the immigration quota. I am all ‘Yeah, who wants any more freeloading Greeks, innit?’” and so forth).

 

So hats off to Zara. There has been a long line of inarticulate buffoons on this particular programme – Paul Gascoigne, Terry Downes, Ian Botham and Lester Piggott (whose speech impediment allowed him to tell a particularly disgusting tale about dame Kiri te Kanawa, without anyone having the least idea what he was saying) to select but a few, but our Zara outdimmed them all. Amazing. I was like “Wow, she should get her own series”.

 

Comments:

 

Murph said...

I salute your saluting hatstand, Vicus! Your post has done more to explain the Royals to outsiders than "It's a Royal Knockout" all those years ago.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006 10:20:00 AM  

 

tom909 said...

Vicus, since discovering the world of blog I have relied on you as my sole source of knowledge regarding our beloved Royal Family. It is indeed a privilege for a mere humble servant such as myself, to be allowed to share such intimate details of our wondrous rulers.

I must say I was so pleased that Zara has added yet more to the seemingly never-ending list of wonderful accomplishments this family has given us over the centuries.

I have also heard over the wires, and you may be able to confirm or not, that she goes like a train in the sack.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006 10:23:00 AM  

 

Vicus Scurra said...

Come on, Murph, you are not an outsider. I saw you with that corgi at Ascot only last year.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006 10:24:00 AM  

 

Vicus Scurra said...

Tom, I am unwilling to comment on these stories. Suffice it to say that in her youth residents living near to Gatcombe Park would often complain about noises that they took to be loud train whistles during the night, even though the nearest railtrack is sixteen miles away.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006 10:26:00 AM  

 

Pamela said...

Is it a bad sign that I have no earthly idea who Zara is?

Tuesday, December 12, 2006 1:18:00 PM  

 

Vicus Scurra said...

Pamela, no, of course not. I, for example, believe that Mr Bush has two daughters, but do not know their names.

Zara is the granddaughter of Liz, queen of England. Like her mother, she has more affinity with horses than people, and was recently voted Britain's top sportsperson for not falling off of a horse for 20 minutes, thereby defeating the following British world champions:

1) Er ....

2) That's it.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006 1:57:00 PM  

 

MJ said...

Thank you from the Colonies.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006 2:34:00 PM  

 

Pamela said...

vicus. thank you for the explanation. We here across the pond appreciate your desire to educate us on the thrilling aspects of the Royals.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006 8:57:00 PM  

 

Geoff said...

Zara isn't on the Royal Variety Performance that is currently being broadcast.

I'd like to see her cantering onstage.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006 8:59:00 PM  

 

Geoff said...

On Barry Manilow.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006 9:00:00 PM  

 

Vicus Scurra said...

Pamela. I suspect from your tone that you are less than sincere. It was probably a direct ancestor of yours who showed good king George the door. Having latterday morons like George Bush flitting across the footlights hardly competes with centuries of inbred lunacy.

Geoff, what in the name of buggery are you doing watching the royal variety performance?

Tuesday, December 12, 2006 9:49:00 PM  

 

realdoc said...

vicus, back to your best. Have you seen that Wills and the other one are planning a concert next year in memory of their mother. That should provide lots of inspiration for you.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006 10:04:00 PM  

 

Vicus Scurra said...

Oh Realdoc, don't I know? They are trying to get me to perform the Queen of the Night's aria.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006 10:16:00 PM  

 

Murph said...

Beware Vicus, they may have referred to the "Queen of the knight's Tiara". Sir Elton can be a right snarky little madam to work with (don't ask, alright!).

Wednesday, December 13, 2006 1:48:00 PM  

 

Richard said...

Do you think the Bolivian dwarf bastard will play there? She liked him, didn't she, even though she wasn't the lady in red.

Wednesday, December 13, 2006 2:33:00 PM  

 

Vicus Scurra said...

Oh dear, my blog has been hijacked. I know nothing of which these people speak. And I will not be forced to gen up on show business gossip just to compete.

Wednesday, December 13, 2006 2:50:00 PM  

 

dinahmow said...

A little something to relieve the tedium of the season.Thanks.If you're interested, a chap called Ivan the Terrible has an acerbic post about "Mummy's Memorial Concert"

Wednesday, December 13, 2006 11:30:00 PM  

 

Pamela said...

vicus, my tone has never been less than sincere. You wound me, sir.

Thursday, December 14, 2006 5:53:00 AM  

 

Vicus Scurra said...

Dinahmow. Thank you.

For everyone else here is the link:

Ivan the not too bad

Thursday, December 14, 2006 9:04:00 AM  

 

Homo Escapeons said...

My word. Is nothing sacred, you're talking about the upper class twits on our almighty dollar..

pfft GAWD that was funny.

I did have a brief jag of sympathy after viewing Helen Mirren channelling Liz Part Deux but you have certainly sent that crashing back to earth.

Hatstands, herniated gibbons,estuarisation,Kiri te Kinawabunga!...it was all bloody marvelous...and then the long knives come out for that Bolivian dwarf bastard!...oh....

I larfed me 'ead off Guv!

Wednesday, December 20, 2006 11:12:00 PM  

 

Vicus Scurra said...

HE. Not sure who the Bolivian Dwarf Bastard is.

Which is odd, given that people usually consult me on such matters.

Thursday, December 21, 2006 6:31:00 AM

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