Wednesday, November 20, 2013

'Milla's Diary, week ending November 20, 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.


November, 14, 2013

Dear One's 65th birthday. On a royal tour. Not the best "venue" for a celebration. Then there's the persistent itchy red blotchy patch on Dear One's you-know-what that's become a bit like Gorbachev's  head-blotch. Not really conducive too intimate celebrations as it is painful when blotch expands and then itches like hell after contracting. Royal Society of Itchy Body Parts, Royal Division, has again been consulted. While they dithered, I sent out for OTC nappy rash cream.  By bedtime it looked somewhat better, but things just never got going, if you see what I mean. Read Winnie the Pooh--well, his favorite bits anyway, and offered to play Pooh Sticks in the tub though I was a bit concerned of itchy red blotchy patch floating over to my bits and pieces. When he said he was done-in and wanted an early sleep I simply doled out the right colored pill and kissed him good night. He's such a lamb. And, he does so love a birthday fuss. The glow-in-the-dark-roadmap-to ecstacy-pants will have to wait for the blotch to clear. Still, he did really enjoy that Artisan Free Trade Fair Labor Practices nettle and barley near-beer of the month club I found while surfing on the plane.And the vegetable curry and spelt chapatis went down a treat as well. Must make it up to him when the blotch clears. He is getting twitchy. Not usually such a gap between events.


Staff did a lovely cake and booze when the day's glad-handling was over. Not really Dear One's favorite though.  He does like a well-structured cake soaked in booze and covered in finely rolled marzipan--the one they did three or four years ago with the Prince of Wales' feathers went over very well. Nothing like that this year. Typical supermarket, squirt-name-in-icing-on-demand stuff and in an unfortunate shade of aqua. Must have meant it for the Toastmaster's Club that meets in the hotel every third Wednesday. Perhaps security for us forced them to reschedule? Booze was lovely though. And the little thingys on pretzels were quite nice if one likes that sort of nibbly, which ONE does--especially on a tour where we could have just consumed kumquat-infused sheep bladders or some such.  Had those darling little samoosas from the freezer section and some tomato chutney as dip for same.  Could close my eyes and imagine self at young married's bring-a-bottle and a change of nappies party. Never know one was in India at all.

The boys both called and a new photo of Baby was sent with the caption "Happy Birthday, Grandpa." For reasons known only to the family, Pip is known in a very American accent as "Gran-pa" and for whatever reasons, they've decided to hold to that for Dear One as well. I see him wince every time. It SHOULD of course be Grandpapa! Lord G is Grandpapa to the Sibby and Georgie of course!


November 15, 2013

Dear One fed up with calls for the Mother-in-law to abdicate. Secretly, I suspect he only wants the dressing up day--a Coronation. He has such splendid memories of Mummy's  big day  (aside from beastly barber who cut his hair too short forcing him to go dripping in hair goo to hold all his cowlicks down). For years he watched his weight not only to stay in all those expensive ceremonial uniforms because, when he is FINALLY crowned as George VI (I know! I know, but that's that--he promised Granny) he wanted to wear Grandpapa's Coronation gear. Now there's a bit too much of him round the middle and backside. Even organic biscuits can catch up with one at our age.

Blotch watch: somewhat smaller to my eye, Dear One not sure. Nappy rash cream seems to be helping.


November 16, 2013

Sri Lanka. Yummy on the mobile wondering if there's an opportunity for the Boy to join the tour. Seems he's exhausting her. As is Baby. As is HER Mummy. Well, I do sympathize. Those early months of parenting are simply THE WORST. Just when you learn to keep the child alive, Papa is tired of playing happy families and wants to play naughty knights and damsels instead. Then there's Mummy or Mummy-in-law being 'helpful' and, oh God! did he send the letter to the headmaster--what will we do if he forgot? will sprog be forced to matriculate at seedy third tier public school with children whose ancestors could actually read and think instead of hunt and shoot and never had to debate "lavatory" vs "toilet"? Then, THEN, there's the fight for a decent au pair. Well, Yummy needn't worry there. Her nanny is paid better than the heads of state in most G7 (or is it G9 now?) Countries. Well, once the PTSD flashback of those days had cleared and the hotflash of thinking of sex with faceless very young man cleared and once I'd lit a fag cigarette, I asked the usual questions. Had she had a g & t yet.? No, it's NOT too early, its an essential tool of  Mummydom survival.. Had she tried, really TRIED to fake a believable "conclusion" to last night's "event?" Didn't wear it. hmmmmm. (Shouldn't have give such a damn about it before marriage--she'll never get away with faking now.) New strategy. Order Boy new trousers, size smaller. Possibility of extreme chafing and brief respite while said chafing heals. Don't use nappy rash cream as it WILL cure it and you don't want that. Gave number Royal Society of Itchy Body Parts, Royal Division and explained worthlessness of this outfit. Yummy was positively thrilled to bits! Even promised me a 50% voucher from parent's firm for the grands next party. What a lamb!

Hopelessly behind on the Street and we had to miss Strictly on the ipad for big do with local grandees. Very bad wine. Sainsbury's does better frozen curry. Bit down on a rock in my rice. One must expect such nuisances in the third world, but you'd think with all the engineers and computer geniuses in Indian these days they could teach the help to sift the rice for rocks. At least that's what I say. We went off to bed missing Downton and hoping like mad children that Christmas comes quickly this year so we can see the finale.

Blotch watch: Definitely improving. Must remember to tell Itchy People about the wonders of nappy rash ointment.

November 17, 2013

Haza phoned ready for the 'off' on his South Pole trek. Such a fine lad! Does his bit not only for Polynesia but also for his wounded comrades. Dear One frantically worried about him though like always. All that claptrap SWMNBN put out about him being a distant father! Such rubbish. He just didn't use them for photo-ops. Still, I worry about Haza, too. Time he found a sensible girl and settled down. Getting a bit long in the tooth for parties in bedsits, squats and mansion blocks. Time for a proper home, dogs and children. Preferably in the country where the press won't see the boozing as easily. But, he's a soldier and they do love their fun!

Blotch watch: pink-ish now more than reddish. Not so vile looking.


November 18, 2013

Wrapped up the tour with a rousing dinner for the Commonwealth Heads of Government. A bit like a dinner for OAPs but with better wine. I was stuck with two who couldn't even mime in English, but there you are! I just sat there nodding, smiling gratefully for not having to heat the starter in the microwave or something similar resulting from a last minute staff set-to. Tried to decide if the men were wearing y-fronts or boxers (concluded one wasn't wearing any) and generally passed the time in the way one does when stuck at a formal dinner with no one in the near-regions with whom one shares at least a rudimentary grasp of the same language.

Blotch watch: We should be good to go on about Tuesday if the current rate of healing continues.

November 19, 2013

Home to the Mausoleum. Butler has reappeared. Valet #1 has gone off on extended holiday in Ibezia. Filipino kitchen made had lovely pub grub on our trays in front of the telly within minutes! Such a lamb. They do an awfully good curry-chips down that pub. We had a double order as well as Shepard's pie and a few pints. Dear One so much more relaxed. We watch the Kummars. So good to have something familiar to eat and watch when one is completely knackered.

Blotch Watch: Yes, tomorrow. It should be fine tomorrow.

November 20, 2013

Blotch Watch: No, it wasn't.

Not at all.  We were all set for a little naughty maid and Lord of the Manor slap-and-tickle and the beastly thing (the blotch not the thing it is on) got nearly rigid and refused to expand. Dear One gasping in pain worse than the original ointment nightmare. Offered to kiss and make better, but got atruly violent response. So I spent a happy evening with the dogs snuggled in bed catching up the Street and skyping good-night with the grands! The dogs have so missed Mummy! Even though the Mother-in-law did have them over for a play date--so sweet of her. They really don't get on with the corgis (who does?) since the corgis are OAPs, and very pampered ones at that, and my lot are well....my lot. They're my dogs. They live a marginally less cosseted existence. They must share their squeaky toys. They do not get to stand there like short pillars of salt and watch one footman throw the toy while the other retrieves it. Still, when the Mother-in-law says 'play date' they do their duty and use their downstairs manners and sniff each visitor politely  before going back to sleep.

Rang Pip to make sure he's still with us. Someone named Estelle figured largely in the conversation. The diet the Mother-in-law insists he must obey really doesn't do much good for the brain box. A man needs bacon, for example. Whoever Estelle is/was certainly had a hold on his brainwaves so I rang off, happy that he's still more-or-less breathing.


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



No comments: