I was a little preoccupied today, by having Liz on the telephone, fretting about all this fuss over her being too moody to cross the road for the crass event of the year. "Don't take any notice, duck," I said in my most reassuring voice, "I'm not going either". April the 8th, they must be barmy. New Zealand are playing Sri Lanka, and the West Indies are playing South Africa on that day. "I'll be lucky if I get out of my chair to go for a pee", I told her. She chuckled, she has a certain scatological frame of mind, best illustrated by the occasion when she left a dog turd on William Hague's chair at a banquet at Sandringham. "Bugger them all," she said, and I think I detected a slight sob, " the silly sod is over 50 now, and should be able to cross the pigging road without his mother."
I asked her whether my old friend Mark could have her place, but she evaded the question. I think that she is a little jealous of all the attention that Charles is getting. I even pressed the case for Broomhilda to officiate, but that didn't go down too well either. There's no pleasing some people is there?