It is seldom that Camilla displays anything other than her cheerful and carefree disposition. She should be congratulated for this when one considers what up with which she has to put. Imagine my surprise, then, when I found her at the end of the electric telephone, venting spleen and breathing molten lava. It took me quite some time to ascertain the cause of her angst. She seems to live her life in a stream of consciousness that is flowing without direction or consistency.
“Nasty little git! It wouldn’t have been so bad, but I was sure Chuck told me it was Ken Goodwin we were going to have lunch with. He was always one of my favourites. I even rehearsed saying ‘we’re having a good time, aren’t we?’ in a gormless northern accent.”
“Calm down, old octopus,” I said, in my most caring manner, “give me a few minutes while I try to work out what the buggery you are referring to”.
“Lunch!” she exclaimed.
“Tell me about it,” I said, hoping that she wouldn’t, “I never know what to have, either”.
“No, you soft sod, I am alluding to the two (seemed like thirty) hours that I had to spend with that odious little tit Fred Goodwin. Apparently he is standing down as something to do with the Prince’s Truss” (sic) “and Charlie, dumbass that he is, thought it appropriate to have the tosser round for lunch”.
“Oh come on, old platypus,” I interjected, hoping to relieve her ire, “consider some of the other twats you have had to dine with in your official capacity – George Bush, David Frost, Lloyd Webber …”
“Bollocks!” She was having none of it. “At least they didn’t try to sell me insurance during the fish course, or enquire, halitosis prominent, whether I needed a new mortgage for Highgrove. The moron didn’t even take the hint when I covered my head with the table cloth and affected to have died.”
“I’m sure you didn’t let him get away with it, ducky.”
“You’re right there, I waited for a quiet spot in the conversation – everyone had been lulled by Charles’ soliloquy on organic marrows – and told Farty Fred he had only been given the position in the first place when someone told Charles that Himmler was dead, and the Yorkshire Ripper had turned it down. I also pointed out that I had switched my account to the Orkney and Shetland Building Society when Coutts had been taken over by the RBS, as I had heard there was some bollock brained crook in charge who wasn’t to be trusted, and perhaps ‘Sir’ Fred had heard of him. I then proceeded to slurp my Angel Delight very loudly while Goodwin attempted to engage some poor sod in a discussion about fly fishing in Monmouthshire.”
“And with whom are you dining today, dearie?” I cheekily enquired.
“No idea, but I’m taking an extra pair of ear plugs and a triple Courvoisier as protection.”
8 comments:
Three Cheers for Queen Camilla!!! A lone voice of common sense amongst the sea of stupidity.
We need such a standard bearer more than ever at the moment, particular now dear, dear Sarah Palin is Paling. I see we chuck Chuck and Gordon is a Moron and make her in full charge of the lot.
Thank you SO much for drawing our attention to this.
Yes, I do agree: in my opinion you get a much better slurp out of Angel Delight - if indeed you're referring to the dessert comestible and not to your still-room maid - than you do out of Instant Whip.
As Bessie Smith sang 'Nobody knows you when you're down and out'.
I am proud to serve a Prince who can rise above such uncharitable attitudes.
Yes, Rog, you are quite right. While I wish Liz no harm (she has been so kind to me over the years) it would be nice for her to stand aside and let Cams have a go. Breath of fresh air and so forth.
Christopher! How nice to see you here. I was afraid that your retirement (for which you are not entirely forgiven) might mean your withdrawal from other blogs. I shall defer to you hence on all matters dessert related. It is so nice to have an informed commenter. I shall, however, not stand for any nonsense about pies and crumble without custard, or to suggestions that nuts and spices be added to sweet dishes.
Kaz. Yes, indeed, I think that Fred has suffered enough. I shall probably organise a whip-round for him later.
Your elegant use of the English language puts me to shame. The aplomb with which you carry off the split infinitive is a joy to see.
I shall carry my blog outside forthwith, and add it to the bonfire of the vanities which burns with unquencheable fire in my rearmost vomitorium.
You do realise that Cammy's great-grandmother was Chuck's great-great grandfather's mistress so this is all a part of the good Lord's plan to keep the Royals swirling in the same drain in the shallow end of the gene pool.
Need I remind you that Cammy is the patron of many organisations such as the Moorland Mousie Trust, Girl's Friendly Society, and the P.G. Wodehouse Society of the Netherlands no less, and therefore you should extend every courtesy to this valued mmember of the Royal Family..
without whom the very fabric of the universe would unravel at the speed of light.
I always confuse the Prince's Trust with The Duke Of Edinburgh's Award Scheme.
Are they related?
Dave. Take heart. No one reads enough of your blog to bother about usage.
Donn. There is little likelihood of Charles and Camilla producing offspring. I will not detail here what I know of their intimacy, but the strained balcony at the Palace is unlikely to be further burdened by more jug eared halfwits for the time being.
Geoff. I believe that the prince and the duke are related, but can't work out exactly how at the moment.
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