Wednesday, March 12, 2014

'Milla's Diary, week ending 12 March 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.

7 March 2014

Once again I've let this little diary fall behind! Where do the days go! A bit of a family set-to going on at the moment. Edith turns fifty in a few days and is having a big "do" at his palatial estate for the occasion. Dear One sent our regrets and the feathers flew shortly afterward. He detests going to Edith's. The lad, well he really can't be called a 'lad at 50, now can he?...has country estate larger than that of Dear One or the Boy or even Randy. Yet how "grand" of a home does the current 8th in line to the throne need--especially when he's only going to slip down the line quite a bit? When Dear One and I were both born the chap who was 8th in line to the throne is now somewhere down near #40. I ask you? Edith makes such a to-do about merely being an Earl and all--won't have his children known by any titles but those of an Earl's child, yet swans about with a body guard protection officer, a nanny, a nanny's help (no one claims to have a nursery maid any more), a household staff and who knows who-all-else. Sounds a bit like having his cake while eating it to me. So, the calls have been going back and forth between the Mother-in-law's private secretary, Edith's official office, Edith's screechy wife and Dear One. When he lets the landline ring off the hook, they phone my mobile. No peace. None. Must ring the GP for a new nico-patch. Smoked at least 7 fags cigarettes today.

8 March 2014

The birthday bash stand-off continues with Dear One not moving a jot. He will not go. That's all there is to it. Says he 'raised' the lad and that's duty done in his book. So he's fifty. Who cares? His exact words. I did my wifely best to jolly him into it. Promised he could wear his Windsor Uniform and his Union Jack pants and all his lovely gongs and medals. (That usually works a treat, by the way,) No. Just "No." I was shocked, truely. Offered a fun and rarely offered form of slap-and-tickle for afters. No.

In the midst of all of this, we had a reception here at the Masoluem. The Butler, with an official telling off in his file (his lawyer has left something like  200 messages on my mobile) was at least able to see that the house was ready, the nibblies were set out properly and that the booze wasn't overly watered (well, people do DRIVE to these things! Can't have a drinks-driving incident after, now can we? Plus it saves a packet on the official entertaining bill and that chuffs Parliament no end). Then Fatty arrived for a it a bit early to swan about and pretend to be Grandpapa (and if you ask me, he's no Grandpapa). The Butler, for once being polite and on-task (a miracle) asked if he would care for a Sherry and Fatty blundered about shouting "My Good Man" and "Whiskey! The Only drink for a REAL man" and other blather than just managed to put the Butler's back up AND out-of-joint. As Fatty continued his nattering, hands clutching his lapels to try to evoke the Great One of the Family, Dear One came down, heard him and fled right back up the stairs. It was left to--who else? One. It's always up to One, isn't it!  I found one of those huge lidded cups American tourists are forever chucking where ever they empty them and filled it to the rim with booze and told him Dear One would be down directly and would he be so kind as to wait in HERE? Then shoved him into the Equerries Room (they have a loo, so it was safe) and locked the door. End of larger-than-life-sized Annoyance. Then it was upstairs to jolly the Butler back down for the actual event. I used my trump card. The mobile number of the adorable boy in the Palace Cafe--the one who charms the old dears who come for water aerobics. WELL! Had I offered this little tidbit MONTHS ago we might have had service with a smile. The official "do" came off without a hitch. Fatty was found, coatless and shoeless, snoring loudly on the Equerry room sofa. No harm done. Had no clue why he was visiting! What a hoot!!


9 March 2014

The stand off over the birthday party has ramped up a notch or two. The Mother-in-law called and appealed to "duty". Dear One, a bit too testy I thought, informed Mummy that he'd done his duty with Edith by 1972 and that was enough. He then called his sister and ranted at her for over an hour. Silence. Not even Elgar on what he insists on calling the "hi-fi"--just silence. Pip on the phone next. As a personal favor? Dear One snorted at this, barely managing to cover the phone in time. Something from the side of Dear One's mouth that seemed to mean he had endured Colditz and all 3 branches of the military while Edith got have a Gap Year as well as fflounce his way out of military service, but I can't be sure--Dear One mumbles so when he talks out of the side of his mouth in that annoying movie gangster way. He went off to the tub to soak and shoot clay pidgons (well not REALLY shoot--it's a gun with suction cup darts, you see? His valet tosses the birds and fetches the darts. Quite jolly! I won't play any more though, as I never get to shoot. He always wants to change the game when it's my go.)

10 March 2014

E-day. This Heir is Not For Turning. One final call from the Mother-in-law. No dice. Almost what he said to her, too. She even tried "I'm saying this as MUMMY, darling, not as QUEEN." To which Dear One said "I'm saying this as your ELDEST SON, not your HEIR--my baby brother's birthday is not something I care much about." Had he at least sent a gift? "I don't recall." She then asked for me. This is really upsetting her! She never asks to speak to me! Couldn't I jolly him into going? I was of course polite AND deferential--after all she's always only MY soveriegn. But the answer was "No." It will put such a pall over the evening, she claimed. In the background I heard Dear One say that annoying phrase our children all used to death in the 90s: "I hate it when that happens." She finally rang off and Dear One skipped merely to the tv, pushed in the Kumars dvd and poured himself a drink the size of the one Fatty downed yesterday. He'd won!

11 March 2015

Hollow victory. Dear One was summoned to the PRESENCE. Did he really think snubbing his little brother's milestone birthday augured well for family unity? As he retold this to me, he had to stop and laugh. He apparently informed Mummy that most of the country had no clue who HE is or why they should care, let alone who Edith is. He reminded her that his late wife--dead the last 17 years--was STILL the most popular "member" of the Firm. But you don't hold down a throne for 60+ years and learn nothing about negotiating! Was he aware that his own wishy-washy (he very word) parenting had taken the lime-light off Edith and onto Haza and a girl no one really knows? Or that the Boy and Yummy are now seen as negligent parents just for going  away for a week without Baby--a week that started with Edith's milestone birthday? Now had he kept his own sons in line..... He apparentlyl reminded her that when she was gone the FIRM would be us and the boys. That's about it, except for Trooping the Color. He also told her he would not be having the annual Christmas lunch. Why? No one likes each other! She admitted that was true, but it was tradition. Well, he said, it costs the bloody Earth! They then had at it over Edith's lavish lifestyle, his wife STILL trying to look like SWMNBN and number of other things. As always, when it was all out in the open, the Mother-in-law rang for Sherry and they discussed the upcoming polo season. That's the way it works. Nothing changes.



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

2 comments:

Susan said...

These are so fun -- the heir is "not for turning" and the slap and tickle lines were cracking me up this week :) I wonder if it's really true that C didn't want to go to E's b'day celebration? Is there really resentment between them or is that part of the fiction?

Hopewell said...

Susan-- I have no idea. It's just fun.