Camilla, as I have mentioned before, being from the British upper class, has a somewhat peculiar sense of humour, and is determined to play at least one practical joke at the wedding. When she telephoned last night, I told her that she was already lacking in popularity and had better watch her step, but she would not be deterred. I am so glad I am not going.
It took me ten minutes to dissuade her from hiring a princessDi-ogram to jump out of the wedding cake. Giving Anne a horse trough instead of a plate was also ruled out, but not without resistance on her part. “Why don’t you just behave for one day, and enjoy the occasion,” I counselled, “everyone will be telling you how l lovely you look, and when is that likely to happen again?”
“What about my strapping a cucumber inside my knickers, so it looks like I have a stiffy?” she asked. “As if, as if,” I said, “you sound so common, ‘as if’, not ‘like’. You’ll be the only one there who does have a stiffy”. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.
This still failed to dampen her spirits. She recounted the tale of how someone had laced princess Margaret’s prawn cocktail with amphetamines at Andrew’s wedding, causing her to attempt Irish folk dances during Philip’s speech. “You’ve got that wrong, sweetie”, I said, “Margaret told me she could only ever go to these events while strongly drugged, so there was no need for spiking her food. At one of the queen’s birthday parties, the soup course lasted three and a half hours while Margaret watched dolphins perform King Lear in her mulligatawny.”
I had to leave it there, the