Thursday, January 16, 2014

'Milla's Diary, week ending 15 January 2014

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.




8 January 2014


Absolutely nothing noteworthy happened, except for the fight between Pip and the Mother-in-law over whether it was gray or merely foggy out. Pip, you may not know, wears contact lenses like most members of the family and at his age they CAN be quite the chore. After the debate had raged for sometime, Dear One, who had had quite enough, thank you, approached his father as one would approach an unexploded bomb and squinted at his eyes. "Papa! You haven't got your eyes in! For goodness sake, stop making Mummy cross and put your specs on or your eyes in." I must admit, Pip was such a lamb about the whole thing! He jabbed an arthritic finger in each eye to be sure then toddled off back to his dressing room and returned in his spectacles. Peace, and the Mother-in-law, returned to reigning.


9 January 2014


A different sort of peace today. After a final ride with the props children the Mother-in-law and Pip, and very reluctantly the pair of us, stood in the door waving our hankies as Edith and company departed for home and the necessary decompression time before the start of the new school term. The Game Book was carefully clutched, you may be sure, by the boy. The girl had a delightful giggle over the press not yet having noticed she'd had her bad eye done. We, of course, had offered to pay earlier in December, but apparently it was the Mother-in-law who shamed Edith into having it done. Apparently there was quite the row before the Boy's wedding with the Mother-in-law worried that not only would the very lovely little girl's looks be spoiled (and consequently the wedding snaps) but that the press would start rumors that she was a half-wit or something (her words, not mine--her generation only does PC speak from the Throne and on the Royal Round). The little one is thrilled to bits. She was enduring unspeakable hell even at her uber-exclusive "how might we say that more nicely" private day school that is housed in Windsor Castle. No telling what hell she would have endured at boarding school--though the Edith's are a bit over protective. Perhaps it'll only be day school for her--poor thing did nearly die at birth, only natural there'd be cotton wool wrapped in layers around her.


10 January 2014


Randy left this morning, so we have started our official time "in waiting," as it were. Just us and the 'rents-in-law. What a hoot! All day long of the two of them going at it over telly volume, red box time (Pip is a lamb--always at her to do less) and, thank God!, the food is back to quality. The bulk caterering firm employed to feed the Royal masses is a bit on the factory canteen level. Lovely, tender organic leg of lamb and fresh veggies today. Must get the name of the meat supplier--our lamb is always so tough. Lovely wine and even pudding--the Mother-in-law usually doesn't allow such frivolity as "pudding" as she hates girdles. I understand. Believe me. I understand.

Yesterday was Yummy's birthday, of course. All kinds of nutters sent cards from SWMNBN--I kid you not. They send cards signed "Darling Mummy." Naturally they had long since fled to sanity-land, but I did get a sweet text thanking me for the case of really lovely wine (a type my son found at some artisan winery, but it is truly fabulous) as well as for the jewels from Dear One--some of Granny's of course. He is so sweet on the girl! He so wanted a daughter, poor lamb. He simply dotes on all the girls in the family and is as anxious about the OTH's daughter giving birth for the first time that he might as well be the father. If you can imagine he's called the poor thing daily to make sure she's alright. But she's the right sort--and assures him she's fine every time. I happen to know she feels "beyond beached whale" and anyone who has popped a sprog will well understand that phrase. In a day or two a self-inflicted Cesarian will start to sound reasonable.


11 January 2014


Day two of our sentence time in waiting. We were torn from slumber, after a very raucous goodnight, I might add, by Pip shouting something that sounded like "Fire." Dear One and I, knowing the place is a tinderbox, rushed out to the front law marshalling spot and waited for the trucks. As we stood there shivering, Dear One in his new superhero briefs which were looking less heroic by the second (well, he couldn't go outside in the all-to-gether and they were what was at hand) and me draped in his stiff-fronted dinner shirt, the butler, in Homer Simpson pajama pants and an RAF Parka grabbed from the Equerry's Room lost-and-found from the look of it, waved his hands wildly as he crossed the lawn to meet us. Apparently Pip was shouting "FINE!" just before stamping out to his own room. Something at dinner must not have agreed with him again and he was banished, poor old dear. He does so like a cuddle, but the Mother-in-law is so stiff necked about it all. We went back in, praying that no one caught us on a mobile phone and then set us to go viral, and after a substantial tot of brandy we went back to sleep.


12 January 2014


My resolution to stop fags cigarettes having already been packed in several days ago (well, 1 January at 7:13 am if you must know) I was having a fag smoke and a face-the-day gin and tonic after about gallon of coffee and another of tea (it takes over-hydration to survive this week, you see. While the Mother-in-law needs a pee approximately every other Thursday, Pip goes every ten minutes so I'm not really missed if I make a dash and then stay awhile in the loo pretending I can't remember why I'm shut in there) when a Page of the Presence appeared with a handwritten note on Sandringham stationary. Would I join the Mother-in-law for a lovely long ride? Oh God! Riding all morning in the cold, pouring rain is one thing, quite lovely in fact, but riding all day in the cold, pouring rain with my Mother-in-law who just happens to be Queen of England AND a full bladder is another. But, I drew a smiley face at the bottom and went back upstairs to change into appropriate clothing. Day. From. Hell. At almost 90 the Mother-in-law has the constitution of a seasoned yak. Nothing stops her. She's like a Churchill tank in a headscarf. I was forever having to say "won't be a mo...." then dismount and go to the bushes. After about the 9th time she said rather curtly "there's an op for that now--sling for the bladder. In and out in a day I hear.." Well, at her age, people are always having ops, aren't they? Up there with Influenza jabs on their weekly to-do list. I assured her I knew of the op (Sylvia's had it done twice, in fact), but said I'd simply guzzled coffee. She had her "like hell" look on as a reply. Finally, after approximately 4 weeks in the saddle, she decided we could go in. Naturally, I didn't have to have another wee until nighttime.


13 January 2014


Church parade for the OAPs and more offense at the Mother-in-law not taking children's flowers. No one, not even Pip, knows the reason. Dear One surmised, probably rightly so, that she's simply had it with graciously accepting posies from children. Let's face it, she's been doing it longer than most of the world has been alive. I expect it does get rather waring with time.


Once they were back in the house and had given the lecture on the duty of church attendance, to which Dear One gave his usual non-listen, we were all stuck with the day to kill together. The Mother-in-law had the equestrian station on in the sitting room--its perfect for her! Reruns of racing and eventing 24/7. Pip, on the other hand, had earmarked a repeat of the 1966 Ashes highlights and a girlie movie on the "Wife-Disapproves-Network." Needless to say, it was reruns of racing and eventing ALL. DAY. LONG. Not even a break for the red boxes and we had lunch on trays (and quite lovely it was, too. Beautiful omlettes with lightly herbed goat's cheese, a sort of potato  cake and fresh salad--lovely). As Pip tried, in vain of course, to get the channel changed, she replied imperiously, "This is what you wanted--me NOT doing my boxes." Pip gnashed his teeth and rang for a drink. I got him an old cricket match via youtube on my iPad and he was soon asleep clutching the device like a child with a favorite storybook.


When the Mother-in-law was called away to speak to the Prime Minister, Dear One grabbed the remote and we at least got a change to the Gardening Network. Personally, I'd have been fine with eventing, but the reruns of racing just bore me silly! I ask you? Can't you remember the outcome?  And, given a choice of all day re-run racing, all day gardening, or all day historic cricket I'd have preferred even the crochet channel again. Instead I made my own drink--something beyond a triple and gave pretended to be nice to the corgis--one of whom had weed in the corner, but I didn't offer to take them out. There is an army of people who could take the little brutes darlings out for a wee, so why must I be the one? By 2:13 p.m., I was ready to call it a night, but we still had tea, dinner, and the frivolity of an after-dinner spell of jigsaw puzzle working to endure. Dear One always sets the Mother-in-law off--he WILL resort her pieces. I have talked till I am blue in the face, but he will not stop himself. I don't find it funny, either. It's childish. She's the bloody Queen already, let her sort the sodding pieces her own way.


Prayed for strength. The Mausoleum sounds lovely and cozy right now--and I mean the one at Frogmore, not our London home.

2 comments:

Susan said...

Oh my -- truth or fiction about Kate getting b'day cards from "Diana"? Love Milla's take on Lady Louise's situation, and I too am anxiously awaiting Zara's little bundle of joy :)

Hopewell said...

Sadly, I imagine its true. They get reams of crazy stuff just like the White House.