The more informed among you will be aware already of the greatest threat to the nation’s security since the wedding last year. I allude, of course, to the party in the gardens of Buck House in recognition of Liz’s birthday and children’s literature. For fuck’s sake.
The problem, naturally, is Philip. He can’t stand children and he can’t stand books. Ironically, the number of things that the man cannot stand would fill several libraries, but very high on the list are children, with books not far behind.
Ever since the event was announced I have been besieged with requests for assistance. I told Liz when she first telephoned that the matter was quite straightforward. “Just send the old duffer off to open a porridge factory in
Camilla has been oddly quiet. On the surface this appears to be good news, but I suspect that she is plotting something. The longer she thinks about it, the more inappropriate it will be. We managed to keep news of her antics at the Italian Embassy out of the media, and the PR people seem to have convinced everyone that the Italian ambassador’s frequent bursting into tears at public events is due to hay fever.
William is off to see