In this morning’s online Torygraph there is a topical report about a letter written by an obscure cousin of the queen 58 years ago. Apparently, she had a blister on her mouth.
I have been fretting about this incident for years, and you cannot conceive what a relief it is to finally know the truth.
They explain who the lady is, and go on to describe the recipient of the letter, the duke of Kent, as being “best know (sic) …. for presenting the trophies to the Wimbledon winner and runner-up.” This is odd, as I thought the duke of Kent was best known for being one of the gaggle of throwback parasites who bleed the exchequer while contributing nothing to the public good.
The Torygraph does not inform us about the business career of the lady’s husband and his association with Lonrho. Old readers (Monsignor East of North Norfolk) will recall the Grocer referring to Lonrho as “the unacceptable face of capitalism”. In this, as in almost everything else, old Ted was quite wrong. There is no acceptable face of capitalism. It is a blight on our species and will be written about by future historians (should we manage to survive) as a footnote to the worst excesses of Kaliyuga, not getting top-billing only because of our warmongering, genocide, buggering up the environment and allowing half of the world to starve (not to mention Thatcher).
I was obliged to turn to the BBC to watch the rugby internationals at the weekend, as dear Rupert had neglected to update his standing order, and allowed the previous generation to cover the events. Oh dear. I am due to renew my television licence this month, and wish that I could afford an additional 10 bob for them to improve their technology. As it is, I am sure they can afford to pay someone (I volunteer) to watch the sports on the Sky channels and pass on hints gleaned therefrom as to how to make best use of modern equipment. Instead they chose to implement some strange overhead type camera which appeared to be operated by a drug addled, attention deficit disordered gibbon. Its use detracted from the experience, and would have been unsuitable viewing for those prone to motion sickness. In addition, the Beeb continue to employ archetypical northern miseryguts as co-commentators. Brian Moore is reminiscent of dear old Fred Trueman in his decline, offering nothing but moans about mistakes. I suspect that he did not know what was going off out there.
Finally, may I inform those of you too technologically challenged to have mastered facebook about dear Tim describing an event that apparently occurred this weekend as “Kevlar-coated twuntball”. I done a lol.