Wednesday, July 31, 2013

'Milla's Diary week of July 31, 2013

NOTE: This is affectionately written fiction. Any resemblance to royals, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This piece is copyright protected.

Need to catch up or know who is who? Check out the first installment of 'Milla's Diary.

Copyright protected.


 

July 24, 2012

Well, the Boy had his fun getting over on the family. Named his sprog for all of SWMNBN's nephews. What a hoot! The chinless wonders at the Palace had to dig back to ancient days to dredge up someone to tie the second name to. Still, it's  a marvelous name for a marvelous little chap! Got to hold him at the hospital. The Boy, understandably, a bit teary that his Mother wasn't there to share it. Preggy, guess I'll now have to call her "Yummy," short of course for The Nation's Yummy Mummy, very happy and dealing competently with the lad--and with her husband. It all bodes very well for the future. Good on them, I always say!

July 25, 2013

Dear One so lovely and sweet since the baby arrived. He does love little ones! All this nonsense about him being a cold father! You should have seen him with that baby in his arms and HIS baby beside him. Honestly. Pass me a hankie--it was that sweet and tear-making. That's put him in a nursery frame of mind. Cozy is the word he likes for this--likes things to be "cozy." So we watched the grands "Postman Pat" dvds and had eggs with toast soldiers and "proper" sausages for dinner. All going along so lovely till his phone blasted the old Beatles song "I'm a Loser" and he was forced to deal with Randy. Randy, so happy to snitch that Mummy had said HE was the bonniest baby and not the new grandchild. I tell you! This IS how they are with each other! It gets wearing, I tell you. Dear One reminded him that'd he'd once (and I suspect it WAS only the once) changed his very nappy so he'd better'd..... Well, you get the gist, I'm sure! So off to funk-land and bang goes all the nice nursery jollies! Took me hours of digging in that cupboard under the stairs to find Nanny Whosits old photo album. Had to COMPARE each of the four and cast my vote! Shouldn't be asked this, you understand. Hard. Didn't want to lie, but was going to. Then he continued ranting about it all till the vein started throbbing and gave me the Mother-in-law's ice cold glare when, from the depths of the cupboard, I asked him for a g & t. He thought I meant that he should step and fetch it! Good heavens! We've an ARMY of underemployed servants in the Mausoleum to fix drinkies for us AND for the dogs! Just ring the bloody bell already. No! Had to have a SNIT. Finally found the album and the page with all four baby photos with the weight and the other details neatly penned below by Nanny. By this point I just wanted him to be quiet. Anything for PEACE. Even the dogs had found another room! I studied them intensely, AFTER (you can be sure it was AFTER!) I mixed something like a TRIPLE G & T (tho not Gilbey's, of course, after that little indiscretion of SWMNBN). Finally, sick of dear-one's nails-upon-the-chalk board whinging, I gave my HONEST reply.

"Edith," I said. Well, it's true. Edith was an extraordinarily beautiful baby with those heavenly little blue eyes and hair so blonde it was nearly transparent! "Edith," I repeated for emphasis.

Dear One, not often given to true toddler-worthy-wobblies, pitched one worthy of an Oscar. Oh My! My new Tattler and Horse and Hound went flying (that will tick off the Butler who saves a few pence reading mine, but does like them pristine). His glass of oh-so-nursery-oh-so-cozy black currant Ribena went flying (thankfully it missed one of Granny's now priceless "little paintings" that he so loves).  Well, that did it for me! I called the dogs and went upstairs to our room and LOCKED the door. Yes, LOCKED. Let HIM wake the Butler to get the master key since his valet doesn't let him carry things in his pockets. Apparently it ruins the "hang" (??) of his suit.

Peace Reigned. Well, it did after I switched off the mobile and switched on the dvr. Lovely catching up the Street. Put on comfy old nightie and dug out the hidden stash of shortbread and Nutella--lovely washed down with Gin! The dogs were so sweet! They'd missed their Mummy of course! We had lovely tummy rubs and ear scratches! Such lambs!

As that girl says in that really long movie about the American Civil War "Tomorrow is another day!" What a hoot! Let him sweat, I always say!


July 26

Day two of "the snit." Dear One sent a page up with a handwritten note (on Mausaleum stationary if you please) with his necessary communication for the morning. What a hoot! I was being Old Lady Grantham and breakfasting in bed--I got the Filipino kitchen maid on the mobile and she did me a graand fry-up! She always grills extra for the dogs! Such a lamb. Anyhoo, Dear One, in the note that may actually have been penned with a quill from the way it looked, let me know in no uncertain terms that my vote for Edith was tantamount to high treason. Oh, and did I know where the laundry had stashed his favorite pair of daily pants? Long car ride today it seems. Well, knowing that however fun, the snit has to end, I went into his dressing room and dug in THAT drawer. Guess what I found? Of course! The VERY pants. Now could his foo-foo valet do this? NO! One. It's always one who must find rubbish like this. And, always, always at the last possible second. The valet better'd count on buying his own Spode tea pot this year, I can tell you!

Well, it's hard to stay THAT mad at anyone.  Gave Dear One an extra long kiss on his way out and didn't giggle when he fondled my boobs so we're back speaking at last!

July 27

The Mother-in-law, dressed like HER mother, if you ask me, left poor Pip at the Big House and went up to Hell Balmoral on her own. Nothing says "I love you" quite like separate vacations, I always say! And after over 60 years of marriage I'm probably correct!

Of course that got Dear One thinking of more must-have's for our trip to hell Balmoral. This time it was a multi-blade Swiss Army knife sent to him by one of the Germans for his 9th birthday. 9th. 1957. What is it about arcane gifts from the 50s that is making them hit the must-take list this year? I got the little Jap from the garden to root around in the boxes marked "Nursery" in the attic. Finally found it, thank heaven. Got him front row tickets for that sold out rock concert  next week. His boyfriend will be so happy! Texted Dear One to announce the day was saved. The knife was wrapped in a fascinating letter from Pip to Dear One from about his second year at Prep school. Lots of  bracing Lord Baden Powell-ish stuff upper lip comments and a reassurance that "that" happens to all boys from about his age on. What a hoot! Love Pip to death. Must run out to Norfolk soon and spend the day, but with those twin Polish nurses caring for him, he's probably in OAP-bliss land.


July 28

Thrilled to bits that Yummy called me wanting advice! How marvelous. Wanted to know if I thought celery or lettuce for lunch would be healthier for the sprog. Well, naturally the Nation's Yummy Mummy has a duty to return to a size double-zero asap, but I was taken aback at the choices she presented. I asked what her Mummy's staff had prepared. She hesitated then admitted her FATHER (trying to image the Pater popping dinner in the oven!) had baked up a yummy Shepard's Pie with lovely mashed potatoes on top, rich gravy with a lovely rhubarb crumble for afters. Sounded heavenly. Sounded like I should have married the father! What a hoot! Well, I took the proverbial DEEP BREATH and advised her in a very calm and soothing experienced Mummy voice that while breast-feeding the sprog she could eat ANYTHING. She was speechless! I repeated to make sure she had not fainted and all she could do was gasp "SWEET!" before she thanked me and thanked me. That sprog will be in long-trousers before he's weaned.

July 29

Press gassing on about the Boy taking the sprog to SWMNBN's grave. Why shouldn't he do that? Leave him in peace! Honestly those press Johnnies make me so mad!



July 30

Day of Universal Gloom yesterday. The First Marriage Wedding Anniversary. The nutters were out in force as usual. One woman met Dear One's car as he was leaving this morning with a SWMNBN face mask. Another group sent a special delivery parcel with signatures to Pope Francis asking for her to be made a real Saint. Trying to imagine a woman with at least 6-extra marital affairs being canonized, but there you have it!

Knowing just how truly awful the day is for him, in spite of both boys loyally calling and reminiscing with him, I the staff do up a simply grand Edwardian dinner that would even put Downton Abbey to shame. Seven courses, plus me in period dress! Dear One entered into the spirit of the thing entirely. Quite jolly. Afterwards we watched the Helen Mirren film "The Queen" and played our special drinking game that we always do with that film. What a hoot!



Previous Diary Entries can be found here, here, here here  here and here

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