Où Est Christopher?

29 Jul

(I apologise for consecutive French titles—I’m just in that sort of mood, I guess.)

I find it quite charming that I’ve received a few emails asking about Christopher’s whereabouts. It’s sweet that you care about someone who is, ultimately, globally inconsequential.

It’s true Christopher has been somewhat absent from Everyone Needs An Algonquin in recent weeks. This is partly because business has been relatively serious as of late and let’s face it, Christopher’s critical analysis skills aren’t really his strong points.  But I’m afraid there has also been some trouble between us.

It’s potentially problematic mixing the professional and the personal in relationships.  I learned that many years ago when I worked as a seamstress for Henry Kissinger. My remit was purely stitchery, but the Secretary of State and I eventually grew quite close. We were both taking a lot of heat in the press (for him, it was his role at Columbia, and for me, it was the breath-taking but room-dividing ensemble I debuted on the red carpet at that year’s Oscars ceremony). I felt comfortable sharing my opinions when it came to his choice of haberdashery, but when I saw my own views on the Balkans coming out of his mouth during a television interview, I realised that a boundary had been crossed.

Christopher and I have maintained a very solid balance for most of our time together. I thought we were both quite content with the set-up: he was available to do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted and in return I was willing to expose him to glamour, prestige and excitement that otherwise he could have never even dreamt of accessing. Win-win, no?

Sadly not, according to Christopher’s friend, Apollo, whom he met earlier this spring at an event sponsored by one of their boys-only clubs (which I have never had a problem with Christopher joining, even though their very nature excludes me and half of the world’s population). From the very first day I met him, I knew Apollo was what the kids call “bad news.” However, Christopher is his own person and therefore permitted to make whatever mistakes he chooses to.

I noticed little changes in Christopher early on in their friendship. He started combing his hair into a very peculiar style, his shoes grew pointier and I know for a fact he booked in to at least two spa treatments in one month. But I said nothing. I am his employer and also his friend, but I am not his mother (DNA has confirmed this). Eventually, though, Apollo’s influence began to affect Christopher’s work and therefore my own life, which came to a head during what should have been an enjoyable trip to Castle Howard. This is where I had to put my foot down.

I encouraged Christopher to take some time away—to think about his priorities, clear his head and (I was hoping) come to his senses. In the end, the righteous won out (as we so often do) and Christopher has returned home to my side. It turns out Apollo was not all that he seemed to be. I don’t doubt you’ve seen reports in the local paper, so I shall save all of us the embarrassment of rehashing it here.

So there is the explanation for Christopher’s brief absence.  The equilibrium of our household has been re-established and all is well in the world again. Except, of course, for all the recent tragedy around the globe, most of which, I don’t doubt, Apollo has probably had a hand in.

Tags: , , , , ,

Je Suis Innocent!

19 Jul

Despite what you may have heard in today’s select committee, I was never present at any discussions between Coulson, Cameron and Brooks. A certain flame-haired so-and-so is clearly only dragging my name into the proceedings to make herself appear more likeable by association with such a popular, attractive and clean-as-a-whistle writer as my good self. And the implication that I have locked lips with either of the Murdochs—come on, you know how I feel about Australians!

At this point, I am not likely to get my legal team involved: there are much bigger fish to fry first. I’ve hardly been harmed in the way others have by News Corporation and far be it from me to draw the attention away from the real crimes this soulless organization has committed.

I’m sure the fact that when you click on Rupert Murdoch’s Wikipedia page you are immediately redirected to the Amazon entry for my latest novel is purely a technical hiccup and will be straightened out soon.

Tags: , , , , , ,

Advice for Appearing Before The Parliamentary Committee

18 Jul

Remember when you were little and got into trouble? Maybe you were passing notes in class or were caught sneaking back into your bedroom window past your curfew. There’s that split second when the light goes on or the door opens and you hear that adult voice asking, “What are you doing?” and you know they know the answer to the question and that the whole world’s going to be crashing down on you momentarily and there’s not a single thing you can do to stop it. It may be one of the most horrible feelings in the universe.

Being “invited” to appear before a parliamentary committee investigating a  scandal of this magnitude is at least five or six times worse than that feeling. I can barely imagine it.

But then again I can barely imagine most of things this lot has done.

However, this has got to be a little nerve-wracking for them. Maybe not as nerve-wracking as getting your hopes up that your missing daughter is still alive because a journalist has deleted her voicemails, but still pretty worrying.

Although I have never been put into this position myself (it’s actually relatively easy to stay out of trouble like this), I do have some advice which Mssrs Murdoch and Mrs Brooks might want to take on board for tomorrow.

Don’t worry too much about how you look: everyone already hates you so you won’t be winning over any hearts by dressing “innocently.” Rebekah, the red hair—it is what it is; people might make jokes about it, but the truth is, it’s not your red hair but the moral vacuum behind your eyes which is your worst physical trait.

It appears that your primary concern is “avoiding self-incrimination.” This isn’t going to be as simple as it sounds. In America, they’ve got a little trick called “pleading the Fifth,” which means you can refuse to answer any question—this is because no one can be forced into giving self-incriminating evidence. It’s legal and I suppose there are cases where it’s probably a good thing: maybe a witness could put a drug dealer into jail, but because she once bought a joint off him and is therefore also guilty of a crime, she might refuse to incriminate herself. However, ask almost anyone who has seen a witness plead the Fifth and the first assumption that is made is that she is GUILTY—probably of even worse things than she is trying to hide.

Now the particular issues which are bound to be raised tomorrow are a bit heavier than a spliff or two. They’re actually rather mind-blowing (I would list them but I already know that you know), and appearing to be focused only on your own future is not going to make you smell too sweet. This isn’t just about Sienna Miller, you know? This is about big, bad, and horrible things. Sitting in a silence or refusing to answer or redirecting the questions is not advised.

At the same time, I would not suggest you do what’s been done in previous committee hearings, which is to deny and lie. The jig, as they say, is up. I don’t want to see a repeat of this tomorrow, and I bet you don’t either, because face it, it’s pretty humiliating:

Shameful.

So, what are you to do, you ask? You are indeed in a bit of a pickle. I’m afraid that there’s really only one option for you: say what you knew and when you knew it. If it makes you look bad, you are bad, and you deserve everything that you get.

Tags: , , , , , , ,

What Rebekah Brooks Knows

8 Jul

Not too many people in the mood for bigging up ol’ Rebekah Brooks today, were there? A  staff member said, “For the sake of one person, 500 people at the News of the World have been sacrificed”; Nick Clegg has called for her to go; David Cameron claimed he would have taken her resignation and I confess I’ve never been too keen on her face since the whole Ross Kemp incident. Basically, she’s pretty much top of everybody’s shit list.

Except there’s one man who just can’t quit her. It’s the lovely Mister Murdoch. Why hasn’t he sacrificed her as many assumed he would and believe he should?

Today Rebekah Brooks reportedly told those News of the World staffers who could bear to listen:

I am a working journalist who has worked here since I was 19 years old. You are trying to say to me that because an allegation came in that we do not know if it is true, you think I should resign? If you think this is a bundle of laughs trying to fight and get this company’s reputation back, it isn’t.
We have more visibility perhaps with what we can see coming than you guys. I am tied by the criminal investigation but I think in a year’s time, every single one of you in this room might come up and say “I see what she saw now.”

Hmmm. . . is this just a typical journalist’s teaser to get us to tune in later? No. I’m afraid it’s the truth. She’s seen a few things; she indeed knows things that we do not know.

So what’s she on about? You may think that she’s just hinting at the fact that closing the News of the World was simply a gesture, and that it will be back to Sunday business as usual shortly (just with The Sun at the top of the page instead). Some speculate the real pay off of closing the newspaper will come when the BSkyB bid goes through.

The truth is Murdoch won’t axe her because she is privy to some sensational information about the man. Exactly what that sensational information is is what everyone wants to know. I’m afraid it’s far worse than anyone imagines. Here is just a taster of the things that I can’t tell you about Rupert Murdoch, his dastardly deeds and his wicked, wicked ways:

  • The first restraining order in Melbourne’s history was taken out against a young Rupert Murdoch by a neighbour who claimed she didn’t like the way the boy was looking at her dog (if you know what she means).
  • Rupert Murdoch suffers from automatonophobia.
  • Remember how we were all fine with there being nine planets in our solar system? Well, Rupert Murdoch wasn’t. Now all of a sudden, Pluto doesn’t count. You do the math.
  • Rupert Murdoch doesn’t know how to read.
  • Rupert Murdoch has never taken a one-stroke penalty when his ball is in an unplayable lie.
  • Murdoch started the rumour that centrifugal force is “fictitious” and today that’s what we teach our children.
  • Have you ever seen Rupert Murdoch and DB Cooper in the same room? Think about it.

So Rebekah does indeed have a few things on the man.  However, despite her red hair, she seems to have forgotten the Golden Rule of Evil: you deal with the devil, you’re going to get burned. The truth is that Rupert Murdoch is more powerful than any of us realise. It won’t be long until Rebekah Brooks, too, gets what’s coming.

Tags: , , , , , , ,

Joy: How The Fishes in The Deep Blue Sea Found It

14 Jun
               Jeremiah was a bullfrog
               He was a good friend of mine
               I never understood a single word he said
               but I helped him drink his wine
               And he always had some mighty fine wine
               Singing, joy to the world
               All the boys and girls
               Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea
               Joy to you and me

This song is the musical representation of that feeling so many of us long for: complete and utter joy. Why is it so difficult to find? Because what no one tells you is to be really joyful, you need to be pig ignorant.

Think about the phrase “bundle of joy”: why do we use it to describe newborns? Because when parents first meet their infant, they are completely ignorant to the hell that is soon to follow. They hold the little creature in their arms, gaze into its vacant eyes, count its stupid little toes, and feel pure happiness. Twelve years later when they’re summoned for a court appearance, it’s unlikely that their child’s attack on that elderly gentleman with a limp is bringing much joy to their now desperate lives.

As understandably satisfied as I am with my own life, I confess that my moments of joy can be limited. When I look at my reflection in the mirror, I feel many things (awe, wonderment, reluctant sexual arousal), but joy is not one of them. This is because I am not ignorant of all that’s gone in to making me the woman I am. The knowledge of the pain and struggles of my life means that I, unlike the young man at three houses down apparently, cannot experience the ecstasy of joy just by gazing at my person.

Take a moment to reflect on the people who seem most joyful, and you will find they are undoubtedly quite ignorant. But don’t get confused: this does not mean that you have to be a total idiot to feel joy. The etymology of the word “ignorant” comes from the Latin ignoritsi, meaning “like a kitten’s brain,” and I am certainly not hating on kittens. Kittens are clever at many ways (mice killing) yet ignorant of others (chaos theory). This explains why cats look rather solemn when stalking prey, but purr like fools when they see a photograph of Henri Poincaré. By deliberately choosing to not understand that some orbits are not forever increasing nor approaching a fixed point, kittens find joy in dynamical systems.

This is why you will on occasion stumble across a topic on which I am not an expert on. These examples of my own ignorance are often the very things which bring me the most joy. I do not totally understand how jazz music or fruit pastilles are made, and therefore I can find joy in both. The same goes for black tar heroin. There is no shame in being ignorant of some things in this world; it’s all about pro-actively choosing which subjects are important to understand, even if that means sacrificing one’s own personal jubilation.

Given that the song was released in 1970, I am willing to excuse those hippies who believed that it was Jeremiah’s wine that made Three Dog Night so joyful. However, a less flower-powered analysis of the above lyrics highlights my very point—the line “never understood a single word he said” holds the key. Knowledge can be power, but sometimes ignorance is bliss.

Tags: , , , , , , ,

The Prime Minister and The President

25 May

I’ve about had it up to here with you, Mr So-Called Cameron. I’ve tried to take the high road about your not inviting me to be the UK’s Special Representative for Anglo-American Relations, even though clearly the ideal candidate must be someone with my intelligence and diplomacy—not to mention the fact that I’ve had relations with men of both breeds.  You’ve made your position clear, and upon it I shall not dwell. However, despite my unofficial status as a key player in your policy machine, I do feel compelled to speak up about Obama’s visit to Number 10.

Regarding the ping pong game: No. 

It makes a mockery of your offices, and I’ve no doubt that the reason behind it was probably sinister. Refusing to play a one-on-one basketball game with him, especially if you were afraid of being shown up, could only have been motivated by racism.

More importantly, though, the opportunity of a high five with the President of the United States is not the epitome of a special relationship.

One type of special relationship is that between brothers (and no, I don’t mean brothers in that way, racist). There is an undeniable bond between brothers, but that bond could go good or bad. It could become tainted by hero worship, resentment or unrealistic expectations. Brothers with healthy relationships, however, acknowledge their similarities as well as their differences.  They learn from each other, and they maintain boundaries by not sharing everything (as painful as that may be to the woman who fancies them both, I’ve learned to my dismay).

Bush and Blair (neither of whom I’ve slept with) did not have a healthy special relationship. Why don’t you try to right that wrong with Obama? It’s about respect and mutual benefit. It’s perfectly fine for you to give him praise, but why not take a few things from him as well?

For example, take his advice on some key issues. What do you know about American higher education? President Obama is focusing on making it more affordable to students. What would be his take on your tripling the fees for UK students? You’ve also appointed an abstinence-only organisation to advise you on sexual health. They tried abstinence-only sex ed in America; some evidence has shown not only did it not decrease rates of sexual activity, it may have led to young people taking more risks in terms of contraception. Why not learn from America’s mistakes?

John F Kennedy (whose brother I may have slept with) said, “Leadership and learning are indispensable to each other.” As leaders of the two greatest nations in the world, you and Obama could have used this time more wisely. You should have shown him the benefits of the NHS, properly made tea, and a culture not afraid of intellectual debate. He should have shown you more than just his table tennis skills.

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Fab Five Freddie Told Me Everybody’s High: The Rapture 2011

20 May

When I was a mere slip of a girl, my mother was reliant on threats to get us to “behave.” She’d say, “Eat your lima beans or I’ll never cook you another meal” and “Clean your room or I’ll sell you to the circus” and “If you ever serve a martini in a highball glass again, I’ll step on your neck.” Needless to say, I never went hungry nor was sold to a circus (I went voluntarily), and my neck remains elegantly unstepped upon. Even as a child, I could see that the problem with giving ultimatums is that they only work if you keep your end of the bargain.

I bring this up because, as many of you may know, according to Mr Harold Camping, tomorrow is Judgment Day. I’m not going to go into the science of his calculations—it’s a little too number-heavy for my liking—but he’s well serious on this, people. From what I understand, sometime tomorrow Jesus will rise from the dead to gather his saints and all the Goodies will be caught up together with him and his lot in the air to meet God.

Anyone still left on the ground has five months to suffer until everything is annihilated in October. So those who are skewing tomorrow as the end of the world just need to keep quiet: don’t you know how foolish you look talking crap?

Anyhoo, back to the Rapture. If we are to believe Mr Camping (and why shouldn’t we, he certainly has a trustworthy face), some of you may find this a bit alarming. You needn’t fear. You’ve already been judged, mate, so there’s little you can do to learn more or change fate.  At this stage, there’s no time left even to request a free bumper sticker or put up a billboard (though oddly Family Radio is still accepting donations). Instead you should probably just concentrate on preparing for your ascension to meet the lord. You should definitely be wearing your Sunday best Saturday. I would suggest, whatever the weather, you choose something clean, light, but still relatively durable (I’m thinking Egyptian cotton for its breathability). Do not wear any item that could easily get caught on something. Men, you may look dashing wearing your Salvatore Ferragamo tie, but you’ll look a right fool when you get stuck dangling from an electricity pylon. And, please, women who decide to don dresses, be sensible about your unmentionables. Remember, there are bound to be some curious eyes below as you fly up into the sky. Don’t leave your modesty behind. Lastly, use your common sense as you would on any high-traffic day: bring some crosswords and travel sweets to keep you occupied in case there’s a hold up somewhere along your journey (but be careful not to drop them; it’d be the ultimate faux pas to put someone’s eye out right before being introduced to God).

When you think about those who are going to be left behind, do not feel sad. They’re the scum of the earth, remember? Maybe you thought you loved them, but you didn’t: you love Jesus! Get your story straight before you get to Heaven, why don’t you. Besides anyone who isn’t going tomorrow doesn’t believe they’ll be meeting their doom soon anyway, so why should you be fretting on their behalf? Grow up.

I truly hope tomorrow goes swimmingly. The threat of the Final Judgment is one doozy of an ultimatum, and I don’t doubt that God (unlike my mother) has got the balls to follow through. Besides if I know Jesus like I think I know Jesus, he’s pretty much a man of his word. So bon voyage, Christians, have a great flight!

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

The Big Reveal: Why Super-Injunctions Are Pointless

9 May

Here’s the thing about super-injunctions. They’re neither super, in nor at a junction. They make a mockery of freedom of the press and they are proven (scientifically) to be the worst way to keep a secret.

I certainly do not agree with many of the current tactics used by the press, and I find much of the gossip mongering that exists in the world quite distasteful (though, like with caviar, I will admit to engaging in it at times). However, it is much more appropriate to clarify the laws on phone hacking and punish those who have broken the law. I don’t know that we’ll ever be able to change the public’s thirst for gossip, but rich people paying a lot of money to keep their secrets is certainly not going to slow down the desire to know about others’ private lives. In fact, it’s only going to do the opposite.

People love juicy information. If you pay lots of money to keep a secret, ipso facto (look it up), that secret must be pretty damn juicy. That logic isn’t hard to follow.  So in many ways, super-injunctions just make people want to know your secret even more. Plus, once they find it out, they can judge you, not only for the secret itself (and why shouldn’t they, for clearly you are condemning your own behaviour by hiding it), but for the act of gagging the press.

And the thing is: they will find out. A super-injunction may delay it, but, let me assure you, all will be revealed. Adolf Hitler had a hell of a lot of power in his time, but did that stop us from finding out that he was 1. uni-testicular and 2. an occasional partaker in a vegetarian diet? No, that power did not keep his secrets for him.  It might be your own guilt that makes you confess. Maybe an Arabic translator will stumble across the sensational detail next to your name, while going through Osama’s papers. It might even be a careless remark made by your three-year-old child about that time he caught “Daddy doing something unseemly.” The point is: the world’s going to find out eventually.

Therefore, in the interest of encouraging other celebrities to take responsibility for their own behaviour and stop relying on their money to hide it away, I shall confess all my “dirty deeds.” I’m not proud of them (well, not all of them), but I am proud that I have neither abused the legal system to hide them nor consulted Max Clifford to deal with them.

1. Yes, I did sleep with Fidel Castro, but it meant nothing to me nor to the Cuban Missile Crisis.

2. I once paid a prostitute to the leave the area as I was expecting a foreign dignitary for tea and wanted to give the impression that my locale was whore-free.

3. Only 5% of the dancing was mine.

4. I spent some of D.B. Cooper’s money.

5. It was I who let the dogs out.

Tags: , , , ,

The Royal Wedding of Him and Her (Live Updates)

29 Apr

8.05            Welcome to my up-to-the-minute coverage of the wedding between The Duke of Cambridge, the Earl of Strathearn, Baron Carrickfergus, and the Duchess of Cambridge, Countess of Strathearn, and Baroness Carrickfergus. I love group weddings; it’s almost like the Moonies.

8.30            Did you hear the guy from Syria’s been uninvited? I’m not sure that’s any less rude than violently cracking down against weeks of pro-democracy demonstrations.

8.40            I have always felt that those who shove in queues should be beaten to death and admire the police’s decision to do so this morning.

8.44            A lot of hats, bordering on an indecent amount of hats. Some ridiculous, some I confess to finding rather fetching. I particularly like the little pink beanies some of the men are wearing. Too cute!

9.09            The chant that greeted Chelsy Davy was just not on.

9.22            David Beckham. He’s lovely.

9.30            Rowan Atkinson’s arrived, pulling a funny face. Oh wait, that’s Tara Palmer-Tomkinson.

9.43            Apparently Boris Johnson’s hair took hours doing.

9.44            Guy Richie?

9.47            Sir Elton John and David Furnish have arrived. Elton’s coiffure is attempting something but failing miserably.

9.48            I’m not sure I’ve ever seen John Major look quite so dashing. Yum-yum!

9.56             I strongly agree with the decision to sit all gingers in a separate area.

10.01            A cheer for Nick Clegg! Or perhaps for Miriam’s saucy attire—her lips match her feathers.

10.02            Ed and Vince. Vince and Ed. Little George Osborne not far behind.

10.03            Samantha Cameron looks quite pretty in a flattering jade dress, carrying an orange wrap. A shame she had to spoil it with her date.

10.14            I don’t think screams at a wedding are ever really appropriate, regardless of who is attending or how fancy pants their tour bus is.

10.16            Now, that’s one hell of a car the Princes are in.

10.18            Here come the bells.

10.19            Prince William is in the house: whoop whoop, as the kids say.

10.20           Those who think the Royals’ lives are unfairly easy should remember that tragedies like thinning hair can strike anyone. Nature is blind to pageantry.

10.22           The red coat, blue sash and gold doohickeys are alright, I guess. But I’m not keen on the red stripe down the trousers. At least he ignored Harry’s suggestion to also wear red shoes.

10.24           I wonder who was the first to say “Someone’s getting laid tonight” to Wills this morning.

10.27           I don’t care what cool cucumbers some of these posh-os think they are. You know they must be peeing themselves over all this.

10.28           I like the four matching silver mini-buses. They’re titchy, like little toy cars, carrying little toy people.

10.36           Who taught these people how to walk?

10.37            Three arrests at the street party on my road. Apparently, letting off fireworks outside an old couple’s home should have waited until after the nuptials.

10.40           I bet Tony Blair’s having a little cry. I know Barack Obama isn’t.

10.42           Beatrice and Eugenie—no, no, and no.

10.44           This must surely remind Prince Charles of his own weddings. The incredibly exciting one, plus that time the other one got canceled because the Pope up and died.

10. 48          I don’t care what people say. The Queen is still a right royal knockout and you know it. She looks like a stunning little canary. Wearing a hat. And a brooch. And carrying a handbag.

10.50           Awkward kiss between the Duke of Edinburgh and Camilla. But I suppose it would have been more upsetting if it had been natural, like something they did all the time.

10.54          Here comes the bride! I can confirm she is wearing her hair and a white dress. I really don’t know what all the fuss was about. What else would she be wearing?

10.55         Any commentator who says something about Kate’s ability to wave is first against the wall, come the revolution.

10.59          You gotta say one thing about the royals: they know how to keep to a timetable.

11.00          I’m not too proud to admit she looks pretty. But I know, in his heart of heart, Wills prefers a bustier woman.

11.04          Searches for Sarah Burton have now crashed the internet.

11.08          If this is William’s first view of his bride’s dress, I’m sure he think it’s beautiful.  Harry is thinking, “What’s up with her eyebrows?”

11.11           Oh, England, you and your hymns. I do love you so.

11.13          Marriage was ordained for the increase of mankind. Ooh, sexy.

11.14          I won’t say a word. I will forever hereafter hold my peace. Damn, Will’s not said anything either.

11.16          For richer, for poorer. Good one.

11.17          I don’t mean to seem a downer, but let’s remember that Charles and Diana said all these words as well.

11.18         Wow, he’s going to give her his troth, honour her with his body and share all his worldly goods? Jackpot!

11.20         William’s just made the biggest mistake of his life. Congratulations to the happy couple!

11.24          Grab a pew, now for the boring stuff.

11.29          To kill some time, let’s look at some new wedding-related tweets:

Halcruttenden All these beautiful people have just made me realise that the idea of monarchy is right. They’re just better than us.

mfhorne There is literally NOWHERE for Harry to have a sneaky Fatty Boombatty.

mrchrisaddison Queen has a tartan blanket over her knees in that car.

Therealdavelamb No wonder the father of the bride’s sweating, this must be costing him a fortune.

StephenAtHome At the Royal Wedding. Crap, I’m wearing the same thing as Camilla.

RufusHound They need to hurry it along, the photographer has another wedding to do at 12

RobinCooperEsq Don’t forget tomorrow is the royal wedding everybody

11.39         Oh boy, they composed their own prayer. Nicely written—concise yet ultimately meaningless, as all good prayers should be.

11.37         Those little boys have no idea that this will be the last greatest moment of their lives.

11.46         I like the idea of marriage as “such an exquisite mystery.” Sounds so much better than “the beginning of the end.”

11.47         Oh, “Jerusalem,” you bring me such joy. There is nothing better than you. Except maybe marrying Prince William. But alas, it wasn’t meant to be. So I rejoice at the song of England’s green and pleasant land.

11.52        What goes through Charles’s head when he hears “God Save Our Gracious Queen”? And I don’t know about you, but it seems weird that Prince Philip sings it as well. Man, she must really hold that over him at times.

11.56         I thought it was supposed to rain today. Wow, they really do have God looking after them.

12.10        Yes, put the gloves on. One mustn’t wave to paupers without wearing gloves.

12.13        The wedding ceremony ends as all wedding ceremonies do: a bunch of old people in fancy dress struggling to get into horse-drawn carriages. We’ve all been there, done that.

12.15         The deed is done. There’s nothing more to see here. Move along and back to your regular lives.

Tags: , , ,

Good-Night, Sweet Prince*

29 Apr

To William and Catherine, I wish you a wonderful day.

To the rest of us, I suggest:

*Yes, this does imply he’s now dead to me.

Tags: , , , , , , ,

← Older Entries
Newer Entries →