Wednesday, October 30, 2013

'Milla's Diary week ending, October 30, 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.

October 24, 2013

Usual Royal Round. "How did you come, by car? Did you? Was the traffic simply horrid? No? Or, you meant yes. No reason to be nervous, dear, I put my trainers on one foot at a time just like anyone else. No, sorry, I don't know why she was killed--drinks and driving was the story I got. So lovely to have met you.......And you've worked with [syphilitic nonagenarians with no left toes or some such--poor old Dear did mumble badly] for how long? Remarkable.......You are joking! How funny! You Mum was in the Queue for the toilets behind me in 1968 at the[mumble, mumble--think she said the Proms] concert at the Albert Hall? What a small world! She's doing all right, I hope? Oh! Sorry. Yes, I believe I'm patron of their charity. So sad. You're so frightfully brave......Cantelope can do all that? Well, promise not to mention it to His Royal Highness...... Prince [Pip]? Fabulous--war horse, won't be stopped--like a Bull Elephant [Please Lord, don't let him have expired this morning!].....No, I don't think there's anything to those conspiracy theories, lovely to have met you......A tampon voucher! What a hoot! That's a new one! Lovely to have met.....Organic thistle soup? Yummy! Really, oh he'll thrilled to bits--organic, you say? Marvelous. .....Of course it's my natural color! Well, I won't tell if you won't. Lovely to have........Is that right? Your GREAT Granny played netball against me in form four?  A new hip? They're marvelous I hear. Infection? MRSA? Oh how ghastly. Poor love. In the very, of course. Lovely..... What's that love? Out these doors, to your left, the chap in the white glove will direct you. don't need 50p.... Love..... I've never owned a corgi, but I assume there's a resuce group....perhaps the local library could Google it for you, Dear? L.........

Well, my feet were two sizes bigger at the end. Must write those marvelous people at Spanx and see if they can't do a foot massage-sort of nylons. Had to forgo their wonder-working line and yank on one of Mummy's most businesslike girdles. They knew their foundation garments in the 1950s, you must admit. Zip still worked, too, not like those plastic things that burst at the wrong moment. Real tin or something in it---not even rusted from the damp. Might have to look them up and hand out a warrant for services to support! What a hoot that would be! Rigid with boredom, but truely, grateful that people still think a trip to the Palace is meaningful. Tradition is so important. Still, Dear One and I collapsed into bed--him in his underpants even, too tired to wait for his valet to draw a bath and press his pajamas. I'd have thought the pressing was done a bit earlier, but I forgot it's his AA night.

October 25, 2013

Lovely dinner party in the country tonight. So good to be back home--our real home, that is, not the Mausoleum in town. All was going beautifully, that dreadful yummy new range of organic fair-trade cumquat [whatever it was] wine was going down slowly a treat with our guests [thanks to One, who had sense enough to offer triples of any cocktail on offer before hand] and the stewed mutton and fingerling potatoes were both hard tasty. But then Alisdair--it had to be Alisdair, didn't it?--just HAD to tell Dear one that while we were in Scotland the local council rammed thru permission for a skate park in place of the old Poor House. Dear One has fought for simply ages to save that 'beloved old building, simply dripping with local history' [his words--last time I whizzed by on the way to the off license the only thing it was dripping with was newly spray painted gang tags and, of course, damp, but....]. Well, Dear One just Could. Not. Live. until he got the head council Johnny on the secure landline! Then dear Ivor made everyone snort horrid fabulous wine and tofu tiramisu thru their noses by calling it the "Batphone." Instant juvenile fun as the lights were quashed and Jeremy made the Batman sign on the ceiling. They were debating what they'd do with Catwoman if they had a chance [and enough viagra] when I discreetly withdrew to keep Dear One from creating havoc company while he sorted out the Council.

Two and half hours later, when , I finally rejoined my guests, .the men were drunk and watching porn in Haza's old sitting room while the ladies were watching 'Sleepless in Seattle' with a fun little drinking game in the kitchen, with Grace manning the blender for the Margaritas. Dear One, however, had to have a red pill and a lie down. Seems, thank the Lord, there is one final vote to go on the skate park. We gals, with as many as 50 years  of marriage each, drank to glacial slowness of British local government, the saving of my sanity by same, and to the future of Dear Ones efforts to improve the country and the day was saved.

October 26

Well, the various members of our house party staggered out in time for a nice long tramp in the country in aide of something--I've forgotten just what now. One of our charities. Dear One, of course had a meeting with the council--emergency session, though several begged off. One had a daughter's wedding another was on a discount trip to Ibizia--can't blame them, really. I'd take root canal over Dear One saving a Victorian-era Work House any day, but I'm his wife so I have to hear it all--before AND after the meeting. One must be supportive, of course. Well, in an abstract way of course. Anyway, the walk was such fun--but then with that many old soldiers it simply had to be! Grace had yummy fruity stuff in antique flasks for us and Jane had made a Nigella pate for sandwiches after. Hugo, brainbox not firing on all cylindars anymore, poor darling, came in vivid purple spandex and his Eton cricket sweater. Quite a combination on a man of 83. Such a shame his y-fronts were so bunched in the back. Chaffing is just not pretty at that age. I feel for Grace--but there you have it! Marry an older man.... they don't die that young any more! But he's always been such a lamb--adores Grace of course. Never misses a chance to say how grateful he is to her and all that. Good thing she drinks, I say.

Dear One spent the afternoon in  his garden communing with his plants. It's such a help what with the fresh hair, the lovely soil and the two fingers of Old Grouse I sloshed into his tea, and he was soon on rare form! He and Alisdair did the Macarena ala the Goon Show and several of our guests had to change out of damp undies from laughing so much. Must remember to stock a range of adult incontinence products. I think the days for feminine supplies are long over in our crowd--except for the fringe elements who occasionally have a trophy wife in tow. Such a jolly time.

October 27

The guests cleared out and we had a cozy little late-morning nap. But Dear One started grinding his teeth and I couldn't take it. So, the dogs and I had a walk, made a cuppa and settled down to catch up the Street on the dvr. The poor little darlings were simply PINING for Mummy! Got my sister on the mobile and we had a natter while we both watched the Street. Such fun that way, I always say.

Downton-esque high tea for the top council chap. Dear One in Grandpapa's tweed shooting suit, even with the nubbly stockings. Very Lord G. Had to fan myself for a little while. I do love it when he goes all traditional like that. Council chap had on an ancient wind-cheater and vivid green trainers. Worked the tea in, I understand, around his gym time. While I made hostess-y noises and brewed tea in Queen Alexandra's silver pot (all the while trying not to have our guest notice I had to pick bits of tea bag out of the so-called  'loose' tea in the cozy) and passed the sausage rolls (Sainsburys--with the voucher from the supplement last week) and the pate (Marks/Sparks of course) and all the rest of it, the chap kept saying to Dear One: "I get it, I get it. No, I don't like the little monsters either, but we gotta putt em some-ere don't we now?" Not even a local from the sound of that accent and he's on the Council! I ask you? Last time we had councilors in one was a Pakistani and one Indian and they were mad that their golf tee-time was delayed. The only real Englishman of the traditional variety was actually a transplanted American who had restored the old vicarage with his boy friend, who was French. So much for Civic Duty and all that.

Gave up and watched Strictly in our nightclothes with take-away from the Indian place by the pub--the good pub, not the one the eco-friendly-restoration-types use. The pub with no microbrewed anythings and a ready stock of smoky-bacon flavored crisps. Dear One asleep almost as soon as the show started--good thing I'd set the dvr. He'll want to catch it up, I know, poor lamb.

October 28

The press is trying to whip up a tempest in a teapot saying Dear One thinks he's a prisoner. Well, he is, albeit in a very lovely "cell" or two or...well, how many ever places it is he calls 'home'--personally, I've lost track. There's that suburban semi in Wales, for example. Do we count it as a "home?" The two of us and the dogs fill the lounge--and it only holds a cut-price 3 piece suite. Then there's his Granny's little Castle and the Mausoleum. But they miss the point. I suppose he could up and decide to be rock musician (the Mother-in-law's cousin's sons did just that) or announce he wants to become a chartered accountant, but in reality all he CAN do is what he's told. The specter of Great-Uncle-David living out his days going to parties and playing golf in a foreign country isn't a pretty one to Dear One. Doesn't sound all that bad to me, but then who asks me?!

Did it up nicely for Downton--Dear One is so appreciative. I wore one of "Fat Mary's" tiaras. Queen Mary's mother would fit right in today at any diy center or chip shop in this country today. Wouldn't even have the proverbial eye batted in her direction. Dear One snarled at the Labour chap who came to assess the estate or whatever with dear, sweet Mr. Napier I kept having to up the volume as he bleeted on and on about "tradition" and "history." Then he went off on Anna, a LADIES MAID for heaven's sakes! Oh the horror! Not only eating in the same dining room with Lady G  but in a HAT. I pointed out it was meant to be her best outfit, but he all but delivered kittens over it. "Common." He said. "Yes," I said. He stared at me as though I'd slapped him. I had to do a bit of explaining that Ladies Maids did not have jewels and evening gowns. You guessed it: "But GRANNY said, the ladies maid's loved getting their employer's cast off gowns." Marvelous, I said. If they were recent and could be made to FIT. Then too, selling them would be profitable. Honestly, he has no idea. "Granny" must have been way over the yardarm when she poured out that one! I had to rewind and watch it all again on the dvr to know what was going on. Happily he grumped off to bed alone before long and the dogs and I had a wonderful time watching it all. Such fun!

October 29

Spent the day fighting off the urge for a fag cigarette. No patch strong enough for this one I'm afraid. Tomorrow I have to take the Mother-in-law to a riding school for inner city children. I'd sooner give birth (naturally, of course!) to a Volkswagen. Honestly. In the car she'll have on the satellite radio on the racing--that's fine, but when we get there she will forget, yes I said forget! We're not supposed to know she's inching in on 90, but have you ever known anyone that age with all their wheels still grinding in the right direction? She'll forget I'm not the Lady in Waiting and hand me the flowers or the gifts for Baby or what-have-you and then I'll have to dump it all on some unsuspecting protection officer (and you can be sure THAT will be duly noted in the press) to be free to tell her about MY charity that puts this whole show on!  On the way back she'll tell me all the things that Queen Mary wouldn't have approved of and all of them will have been done by ONE of course. Always by one. She once passed gas audibly during the Speech at the State Opening of Parliament, but I'll be called on the carpet for sniffing at the wrong moment or for having laddered tights or some other similar crime against humanity.

Pip was in a jaunty mood and dropped by while I was breakfasting. Jaunty he may have been, but 'with it' isn't his norm much these days at least until after lunch time. He pushed right on to the lift and came into our room where I was breakfasting in my nightie, if you please. He starting in giving me instructions on how to deal with the Mother-in-law tomorrow, got confused and started removing his shoes, then his jacket and tie and was heading for the zip on his trousers when I got thru to him at last. I rang downstairs and begged the Filippino kitchen maid to do him a fast fry up, sans baked beans of course (he had an engagement later and baked beans can be ify for him, poor lamb). He decided a lie-down would help so camped out on Dear One's side of the bed. Picked up Teddy and said, "Well that'll be a damned nusiance. Gone off to school and forgot him again. Best have someone box him up and get him off to the school. [Dear One] doesn't sleep at all without him and the other chaps tease him, poor lad." Could have knocked me over with a feather! If only I could have reached the phone and known how to make it record!  What a lamb! He was soon out cold, but woke up refreshed and thinking much more clearly in time for his fry up.

October 30

Packing list for Engagement with M-i-l:
  • New Nico Patch
  • New Estrogen Patch
  • Spare tights
  • Lipstick
  • Comb
  • Breath mints
  • Flask of gin
  • Phone
  • Note cards for speech
  • List of names
  • Mars bar
  • dental floss
  • ear buds
  • ipad (stays in car)
  • anti-gas tablets
  • Tatler
  • Tissues for use, hanky for show
  • packet of fags and lighter
And, we're off! Heading to the Palace to pick up the Mother-in-law. Probably in a tank built in the early 1950s that has a carbon footprint larger than Norway, but lese majeste! Cover me! I'm going in! What a hoot!

More Royal humor: What if Charles HAD married Camilla in the 1970s?

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