“And what do you do?”. This is Liz on the telephone at .
“I’m your family’s consiglieri, you dozy trollop.” I reply, already weary.
“And how long have you been doing that?”
“Ever since what we refer to as ‘The Snowdon Incident’”, I remind her.
She is very excited about her birthday.
“They’ll all have to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ as well as ‘God Save the Queen’,” she chortles, “then I might make them do it all over again”.
Think of Queeny from Blackadder, and you might get some sense of her mood this morning. She tells me of the little trick she has played on Sophie Wessex. She told her that it is the duty of the wife of the youngest son to personally reply to all the birthday cards – 28,000 at the last count. I keep quiet, I happen to know that even though SW was dumb enough to believe this, she used Word to produce the letters, and now there are 28,000 letters in the
“And what have you bought for me?” Liz again.
“You’ll find it under the tree.” It is cruel, but very difficult to resist.
Of course, I haven’t bought her a present. That all stopped years ago. I bought Charles a pair of fake ears for his 12th birthday, and the soft bastard hasn’t taken them off since.