... and Camilla.
Following the hugely warm response last week to the idea of me being queen (I’m blushing) I felt I should blog-flog that particular horse and - like that daft cow Mayers – (too much farm analogy?) do a book – or at least a post on royal rich people I don’t know.
I considered the more proper title ‘When One is Queen’ but there are two of em lined up. ‘When Two is Queen’ didn't work. Then of course Cam aint gonna be queen anyhoo . She’ll be HRH/something/consort. So that idea went to hell.
So I will stick with when I am queen in my brown girl blog world and perhaps call the piece
My family and other animals (who will live off the state but still look down on other people) - or something catchy like that.
So here let me build on the promises I made last week with my queeny powers (like superwoman powers but without the uncomfortable knickers.)
To the people of Britain and BG world…
For all those who read 50 Shades of Grey – I will have a word with God and see if I can get those hours back for you. If you went to the film of your own volition you’re beyond help.
I dealt with tax dodgers last week – but for those equally heinous beings who let their dogs crap all over the places where I walk and only pick up the turds when they think others are looking, I will write a particularly long queen’s speech. Offenders will be forced to listen to it in a limbo land where it is always Christmas day – they are always waiting for dinner and they can’t have it until the speech ends – which it never does.
Skankers who swear on the bus, women who get drunk on trains and force everyone to listen to their weekend’s sexual exploits and businessmen who STILL think its fine to do that mobile phone I’m-so-important posturing in train carriages where you can’t escape, will all be escorted off said public transport by patrolling Dementors.
Men and women who wear so much perfume/aftershave that you can feel your lungs and eyeballs dissolving within 6 feet of them will not be allowed to board public transport (I’d rather sit next to one of those stinky old men who haven’t washed since 1993)
Harriet Harmon will be forgiven for coming up with the utterly ridiculous, condescending, patronising, pathetic, demeaning, embarrassing idea of a pink van to attract women voters – because prior to that she’s been ok.
I shall be forgiven by my teenaged daughter for the countless times I have ‘ruined’ her life. I do now know all the names of the members of 5SOS.
On my subjects birthdays (and whenever they feel fed up) they will be able to stay in bed, eat very messy almond croissants and watch old episodes of Columbo. Ditto when they're ill / tired / it’s raining or they feel like it...
For me - when I am ravenously hungry my gran will be flown by private magic eco-jet to Edinburgh airport having prepared roti and curry for my tea. I will eat this in vast quantities slurping and burping and dribbling and laughing like Henry VIII – but without the gratuitous bloodshed and without Hillary Mantel in the background going on about how they 'wouldn't have eaten that in Tudor times'. (How does she know?)
And we wouldn't need food-banks because I would set up an institution to see that resources were distributed fairly. I would call this thing – oh I don’t know – PARLIAMENT.
And we’ll all live happily ever after.
When I am queen.