Need to catch up or know who is who? Check out the first installment of 'Milla's Diary.
Ascot! True heaven! All week racing, racing, racing and loads of fun with old friends. Dear One in good form since poor Pip wasn't up to coming. The Mother-in-law also on good form--horses always do that for her. Nothing like racing to perk one up, I always say. Lovely drinkies with the girls in the VIP tent, then more racing, then champers with the ex as we grabbed congratulatory natter over how well our sprogs have turned out. Such a lamb.
Back to the Castle for the house party and a trip upstairs to sit with Pip. Of course he had both tvs blaring full volume and, not being top of his game, didn't always make much sense, poor dear. A bit low and after seeing the nurse the Mother-in-law approved I can see why. If a man makes it to 92 shouldn't there be a law that he can have a lovely young thing to do his baths when he's ill? I mean, I ask you? Is it fair to give him an overweight, 60-something with gray roots when there are countless 20-something nurses would love to add his name to the C.V.?
Found Dear One, after quite a serious hunt round the place I can tell you! While everyone else was having a jolly time playing "Murder" he was off looking at some 17th Century manuscript in the library. The Library Lady was practically swooning over him. Gave me a good giggle! They were rhapsodizing, in near bedroom terms, over an old piece of parchment. What a hoot! Not enough gin in the world....... Seeing he was happily occupied, I FLED to our room to catch up the Street on DVR while hanging out the window to have a
Dear one rather sad today--always is on the Boy's birthday. SWMNBN will be brought up endlessly all day and then Preggy will get the rest of the press coverage. You just KNOW those two planned it all to occur on the Sainted One's birthday! The vein in my forehead is literally POUNDING. All. Day. Funk. from Dear One and no end in sight!
Boy himself in good form--rang up politely to say thanks for the card and prezi (a jokey pair of new Daddy y-fronts--which he and Preggy seemed to genuinely like). A quick, but admittedly polite, thank you for Dear One's gift of a case of assorted organic ready-meals for the freezer. Can't imagine how they intend to do it all without even an au pair. They'll soon learn that Mummy had HELP and get on with it!
Ladies Day at Ascot! Such a hoot! Oh the hats! Dear One and I nearly had to find a loo each we were laughing so hard! Such fun to see him laughing after yesterday's funk. He really is such a lamb. And, greatest joy in years, the Mother-in-laws horse won the bloody Gold Cup!!! So sweet the way she ducked into the VIP tent to phone PIP! She had to scream down the phone and her voice tends to go a bit Carol Burnett on her when she does that, but oh it was worth it to see her face GLOW at his reply. Then Randy approached and she said something into the phone before holding it as far from her ear as possible. I only heard something that sounded a bit like "Bloody sponger..." can't imagine. Pip's brain box must gone walk-about again, I suppose.
House party was such lovely fun! Old Reggie Carstairs got up a Treasure Hunt! Such clever clues! We went in pairs--I got the ex! What a hoot!! I haven't had such fun in decades. After that we all got a bit squiffy and played spin the bottle, making Dear One all but weap since it was some ridiculously old bottle of something we were using. Well he stormed out, but the bottle landed on me and I had to have a go in the closet with that dishy young Scots Guard equerry--too new to be pompous. Of course I let the poor child off with a teensy kiss to the cheek, but the whole house party cheered. Went upstairs in search of Dear One and not finding him decided he could go drool over whatever the library lady had for him today. Nothing like a Chanel Suit and kitten heels to get his blood racing, I always say! Got into my nightie and flicked on the Street for some peace, but did I get it? Oh no! Dear One nearly tore the door off the hinges to come in and have a big long moan about, who else? Randy. Literally HOURS of "Randy this" and "Mummy that" and "I really don't knows" as he himself waffled back and forth. I ended up having to turn on the closed captioning so I could pretend to listen to him whinge while also catching up the Street. Then, after exhausting me with family drama, he wanted to cuddle. Well by then even my boobs were exhausted from listening. I said "No." Rather coldly. He flounced out, then flounced back in reminding me of my "duty." I said clearly that my duty was to serve Her Majesty. That shook him. Poor lamb, I shouldn't be so mean, but really? "Randy, Randy, Randy." One CAN only take SO much of it.
Dear One back on the Royal Round so I sneaked into the races with Angela and Gloria. Loads of drinkies, marvelous time catching up with simply EVERYONE, then back to the Castle to babysit Pip for the mother-in-law. Poor dear, kept asking about someone called 'Marjorie'--no clue. Then it was a trip down memory lane to a night on the town in Aus during the war. Good thing the mother-in-law was out for that one! But, honestly, what hoot! He was a goer in his day, poor randy old dear. Got him back watching the cricket happily, but he WOULD keep switching channels! Then he'd lose the remote down the sofa and I'd have to dig it out over and around him. Then we'd have find-the-button and get mad. When WILL he give in and use the extra-grande sized remote I got him for Christmas? Finally got the cricket back on for him, got my feet up, lit a
Stop. The. Presses. Major. Crisis. Valet forgot to pack his tummy tabs. Well, honestly? I am I supposed to get my shoes back on, find my purse and drive out to God-knows-where with over-the-counter stomach acid chewables obtainable in any chemists, grocers or petrol station? I ask you! What does he have as many servants as Queen Victoria for if not to remember these things? I say it over and over till I am exhausted. These things MATTER. I've made a LIST of these things that MATTER. I've distributed it to EVERY BLEEDING MEMBER OF STAFF and yet who must interrupt her life for this 'crisis?' One. Of course. Nothing else on one's plate. Nope, nothing. Finally convinced him that Gold Braid Boy [equerry] could pop in the chemists and SOLVE THE BLOODY PROBLEM. Oh, and did I know where his Elgar CD had gone? Vein returned to pounding, I can tell you. The LAST bloody nerve I have left!
Rang off to discover Pip sound asleep so I muted the cricket. Just as the Street was getting juicy the phone went off again, blaring Hail to the Chief. Oh goodie! The PM. Can't wait. Could I get Dear One to spend just one tiny afternoon encouraging a scrap metal firm from somewhere in another hemisphere to consider locating in East Wales? If he'll do it, then the PM won't tell the mother-in-law about Dear One's recent letter bemoaning the chav-ish behavior of members of the Cabinet who appear at memorial services in, gasp!, something he continues to call "City Suits" and not "proper" mourning coats and toppers. Yes, the fifth busiest leader of the Free World has to take time to READ these letters!
Had a lovely lie in. Nice to be home again. Had the grans in for some fun while the Mums went out for the day. What lambs they all are. Of course Dear One cringes when the walk in wearing their adorable little trainers. Five seconds on and he's into "proper children's clothing." Happily the equerry reminded him it was time to leave and I got to have fun watching an old "Thomas the Tank Engine" dvd with the children and the dogs, of course. The dogs were feeling simply deserted so of course we all had a jolly time giving tummy rubs! They do love their Mummy--and, of course, their grans!
Dear One home from the Royal Round and still a bit ratty about me neglecting my "duty" the other night, so I suggested a nice long bubble bath. Well his eyes lit right up and suddenly sandwiches on a tray in front of the telly was not only very possible, but desireable even. It takes so little. I even let him choose the bath oil and the music. Finally! We've gone off Elgar, but, just when you think it can't get worse.....It was OPERA, all the lovely bath time, OPERA. And he had TEARS in his eyes, but oh, he was terribly sweet. He is so much more thorough than the NHS that I never bother with a mamogram. So sweet. Then we got on to 'find the soap' and oh what a HOOT!! He put on his glove-puppet washing mit and it was the MOST FUN EVER. I haven't laughed like that in years. Of course the floor was flooded, but what do we have an army of servants for if not to run a shop-vac over the bathroom floor and suck up all the slick, oily water! Off to bed for round two which got him right to sleep. Enjoyed the Street with a Club sandwich dipped in extra mayonnaise and triple g & t. With Dear One clearly hors d'combat, I polished of his sandwich after picking the organic Kale and whatever-the-other-stuff-was off. I left him the organic vegetable crisps. They taste like ante-natal vitamins so I give them a pass.
Lovely lie-in again. Dear One scampered off to Divine Service--some new organist he wanted to hear. Had a lovely great fry-up while watching the Street with the dogs. They do love a fry up! And, being a good Mummy, I of course share it with them, although I notice neither of them was very jolly with the organic Black pudding Dear One raves about.
Dear One back in time for lunch, which went blissfully well even without the cast of thousands waiting on us. Finally he toddled off to play with his paint box and I finished the Jilly Cooper I've been at for weeks now. We had a lovely time together in the afternoon, then napped till tea time. I made sure the tea was "proper" with all the ridiculous things he requires for a "proper" tea--potted prawn sandwiches, smoked salmon sandwiches, cress and egg sandwiches (all divinely cut in little shapes), a lovely Battenberg cake, a day early in honor of Uncle Dickie's birthday, and assorted other sweet things--making sure ALL was organic, of course. So sweet, remembering our youthful indiscretions at Broadlands back in the mists of time. Dear One got out his photo albums and then called Dickie's daughters and a couple of grandchildren. Dear One simply can't be topped at things like this. Always knows the RIGHT THINGS to say. So moving and empathetic. Best of all, he did all this in the other room so I could finish the Street for once!
Up at the actual CRACK. OF. DAWN. to fly to Northern Ireland with Dear One. He, poor lamb, was understandably a bit twitchy about going up there--especially on dear Uncle Dickie's birthday (oh the irony! he couldn't let THAT go for a minute). Well, yours truly was on top of her game this time--didn't leave anything to those so-called- "servants" to do the packing--nope, not this time. Too much at stake! Not only did I get out his kelly green and orange color-blocked pants (used only in Northern Ireland) to avoid the Scotland-in-England-striped-pants-fiasco, but I also packed his aroma therapy neck pillow and Winnie the Pooh fleecey-blanket for the plane. And it's the "proper Pooh," not that silly Disney one! Survived THAT ordeal a few years back when the company sent the WRONG bear. END OF WORLD AS WE KNOW IT that day, I can tell you! Whinged for literally MONTHS about the desecration of as sacred an icon as the "real and proper" Pooh. So, physical comfort was covered. In the big purse I had the iPod loaded with everything imaginable, plus tummy tabs, herbal headache mixture, and a virtual Boots of over-the-counter meds for any occasion. And, to be safe, I packed the
Last Week's 'Milla's Diary
More Royal humor: What if Charles HAD married Camilla in the 1970s?