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Countdown to the Royal Divorce - part 15

Sunday, September 02, 2007


Richard asked, in a not altogether friendly way, whether I was venting my spleen because of a lack of an invitation. Richard, my dear, we are not at home to Mrs Jealous.


Last week the telephone almost melted with the constant invitations to attend. Astute readers will be aware that I have not appeared at one of these events for some time. And no, Richard, it is coincidental that on the last occasion I got caught sitting between David Frost and Jilly Cooper, and had to pretend to faint to get away from the pair of drivelling ninnies.


“It won’t be much of a laugh, honey” said Camilla, “but we can nip down to the Gasfitter’s Armpit for a pint afterwards to take the piss out of the silly hats”. I told her that she was being a bit previous, and resisted the temptation to telephone her during the event just so that I could hear the sound of “Neighbours” dying as she hurriedly switched to BBC 1. It is nothing to do with protocol that causes her exclusion from state occasions but rather her ability to give Sophie Wessex the giggles at inappropriate moments. Sophie manages to contain herself, but alas not at both ends, which results in a histrionic effect of the SBD variety engulfing the nearest two hundred people.


“Do come” said Charles, “you are so good at making people feel at ease. I still haven’t got the hang of all of this, you know, I never know what to do with my hands.” “Neither does your bloody sister” I retorted, “and she doesn’t know her own strength. I am not afraid to give her a swift kick to the shins, so she steers clear of me, but poor old Johnny Mills had to walk with a stick for the last 15 years of his life, because she grabbed a protuberance that she swore she thought was a handkerchief”.


I stayed quietly at home, well, I say quietly, but I was interrupted three times by Zara, the silly moo, calling to ask why no-one was answering their mobiles.*


I was becoming rather gloomy because it looked as though Phil was going to behave himself for once, and I was expecting to have to transfer some funds to my William Hill account as a result, but the old bugger came through in the end. Fortunately, the microphones weren’t working when he engaged one of the choirboys in conversation, and was telling him which of the family would pay him “a fanny load more money than you get for singing” for dressing up in a surplice.



*Liz bought herself a cell phone a couple of years ago. You can guess what tune she downloaded as the ring tone. "It's such a scream, sweety", she confided, "everytime it rings, every fucker in the room has to jump up, stand still and start singing."




I, like the view said...

I feel sorry for poor old Mrs Jealous, being deprived of your wonderful company

Sunday, September 02, 2007 12:37:00 AM  


Reg Pither said...

......You're missing a cracking do down here at the Gasfitter's Armpit! We had a right laugh playing Musical Heirs to the tune of "Deutchland, Deutchland uber alles", Betty got her tits out, Chaz did his party piece with Anne's horse and Harry threw his toys out of the pram when we all started singing "We know who your dad is, we know who your dad is!"

Anyway, must dash - we're all going on into town now cos Phil's busting for a kebab and we want to take the piss out of all the homeless people. Mwa, mwa!!

Sunday, September 02, 2007 1:18:00 AM  


Reg Pither said...

....Princess Michael of Kent has just pointed out that I've spelt "Deutschland" incorrectly - well, she should know, snotty cow. Anyway, must go - the taxi's here. Oh shit, it's a Merc!!

Sunday, September 02, 2007 1:32:00 AM  


homo escapeons said...

That was bloody hilarious. I still have yet to receive this month's issue of Majesty so I am at a loss.

Poor Camilla of Rottweiller. What the devil was wrong with whats-his-face anyway? Peter Parker Spiderman Bowles or whatever the hell his name was.

Personally I think that she has an ear fetish. Apparently they make fantastic love handles when Charles is down inspecting the crops. They say that she gets deleriously organic watching him mulch her natural vegetation.

Sunday, September 02, 2007 1:57:00 AM  


ziggi said...

it's no good Sid they still haven't taken your name off the honours list, you'll have to try harder than that.

arise Sir Scurra

Sunday, September 02, 2007 8:47:00 AM  


Richard said...

No no, I wasn't jealous. Anyway, I had to clean out the crusty deposits in the fridge door seal at work so couldn't possibly have gone.

Monday, September 03, 2007 8:23:00 PM  


homo escapeons said...

I take it all back. I'll never get knighted if I keep this up.

So how do I do this...Sorry. Just kidding. Bit of a lark. Salt of the Earth they are. Good sports too.

Well, there 'tiz. That should get MI5, or is it 6, off of my back. Those wanker spooks are a bloody nuisance.

I can see them when my Browser WebWasher cleans up.

Bloody amateurs!

Where is Spitting Image when you need them anyway? I would watch Les Guignols but the producers in Frantzs (american spelling) are so daft that they think marblemouthed everyman Stallone is a Dubya devotee and a White House insider?

That's Rocky for chrissake!

Tuesday, September 04, 2007 8:35:00 PM  


Hoosier said...

I'd heard rumors that Liz was a big Snoop Dogg fan. Was that the ringtone? I can picture her now, sensible heels kicked off in excitement, dowdy hand bag waving in the air as she gets down to "Gin and Juice" while dancing on the corner table chugging a Bass.

Wednesday, September 05, 2007 3:53:00 PM  


Dyna Girl said...

Ringtone, ringtone! Ahem, Dahling, I mean.

Thursday, September 06, 2007 4:50:00 AM  


raincoaster said...

So it's true what they say about Anne. I always thought that was just for warmbloods.

Saturday, September 08, 2007 3:19:00 PM  


I, like the view said...


Monday, September 10, 2007 11:34:00 AM  


broomhilda said...

You still haven't RSVP'd for my party on friday. We need you to sacrifice the virgin (and it took us forever to find one...)!

Tuesday, September 11, 2007 5:58:00 PM

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