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.
NOTE TO ALL READERS: This is fiction, 'Milla will not be commenting in any way on the very tragic death of a very real (and private) individual. Death is not a laughing matter. My thoughts go out to those very real people who suffered this very real loss.
25 April 2014
Well, once again I've gotten dreadfully behind in this little diary! Where do the days go!! What with the Royal Round, FINALLY!! finally catching up the Street and being on call for Yummy away on tour, my days were full enough. But to make life even more fun Dear One came down with one of those "chesty" colds of his that require Nanny's old vaporizer to be in near-constant use when he's at home. And, Dear One ill is not fun. Really not fun. As in, let me show up for a Gala Performance with two hot rollers still in my hair and the back of my dress poked into the top of my girdle sort of "no fun." Trotting along on the Royal Round with him can be taxing enough, but him with a cold--a near ambien zombie on the stuff he has to take to keep moving--well it is just to the side of "utterly wretched." Lest said, then better, I always think on these occasions. What's the opposite of "what a hoot?" "What a blow??" Oh sod it!
Yummy phoned--Baby is simply the star of every show as we all knew he would be. Dear One and I had the albums out last night as the vaporizer wheezed at us and we snuggled under an antique Eiderdown in the sitting room. Those cheeks! So utterly, utterly like Dear One at that age--apparently the Mother-in-law thinks so too. She rang to gush to Dear One about the grandchild. So utterly unexpected, but he literally BEAMED for hours. The one bright spot in a gloomy day at the Royal Mausoleum Infirmary.
27 April 2014
I dispair at keeping this silly diary up-to-the minute. Dear One a bit better, butt he was up half the night honking into a hankie (Granny didn't approve of tissues--too common) or whinging about being sick. I was knackered and managed to doze off while he was in mid-whinge which is, of course, much better wifely behavior than nodding off while he is in mid-something-else (it HAS happenned. Wasn't pretty......)
We set off for Scotland. Lovely rain upon arrival--such a shame the dogs couldn't come along! Such lovely sniffs and smells in the rain, they always find. But Dear One WOULD pull a face at it. It was a VERY long day.
28 April 2014
Had a grand tour of a Caravan Park. Now I understand the American term "trailer trash." Some truly LOVELY homes, to be sure, but then there were those that we didn't tour that were ready for the tip. Still, lovely reminder of the post-war pre-fabs. Dear One is in favor of saving those, not so sure of his feelings on the newer version. Oh Lord! Please not a speech on them. I must stop writing and come up with a counter argument for the file just in case.
29 April 2014
Haza rang Dear One. I can only say that a huge sigh of relief was given by all. Poor darling boy--he deserves someone who simply DOTES on him and will Nanny and Mummy him as well as wear him out at night. Soldiers are what the young people call "high maintence" as husbands, but jolly good fun, too. Tough decision though--to take on all that and the FAMILY (and the press) as well. Cut and run, if you ask me (which of course they didn't), though I do adore Dear One and he IS so worth it all. But then he was a sailor, wasn't he. Easier somehow, sailors.
30 April 2014
"His friend said, her friend said" all over the papers today. Dear One didn't even GLANCE at the topless numbers today--just mutter something out of the side of his mouth and prepared a whinge when the maid rushed in with the CORRECT muesli for his breakfast. I downed a rather hearty Screwdriver with my egg and toast soldiers as he whinged about privacy and intrusion and leave the boy alone and how do they expect him to marry someone worth having it the stalk her like a stag. He rang Haza to check on him--he's such a lamb and devoted to those boys. Apparently Haza got the number of a blonde at bar last night and it seems promising. Dear One not so sure. Have fun while you can, I always say. Love the boy to bits.
1 May 2014
Long chat on the mobile with Yummy this morning. Finally a catch-up on the tour. The Boy had her at her whit's end. Such a struggle to keep him entertained and jolly him along. He WAS terribly chuffed at the crowds and of course VERY. VERY chuffed at Baby being a sensation, but it does have him worried that the poor lamb will be even more in the press than he and Haza were. he wants the little chap to have all the normal childhood things--seaside trips with Nanny, Pony Club (essential to proper child development in my book) lots of proper stories read like Pooh and Wind in the Willow, wants him to have proper cricket coaching a Lord's and to know what really matters like having good manners and not calling dinner "tea". That sort of thing. Yummy too was wistful about this. How they'd love to have stayed a forces family and just moved along with the RAF to where ever. They'd have the Fourth of June and St. Andrews day to look forward to in time at Eton like normal parents. And Yummy would run the Tambola at the Officer's Club Benevolent Society Fete each year, that sort of thing. But, unless you are Great Great Uncle David, destiny beckons and one must not shirk.
I was surprised to learn, however, that THE school of choice for pre-prep has NOT confirmed Baby's admittance. Apparently he's wait-listed. Over-subcribed for his birth month, you see. They did recommend early inducement to them when they phoned about places.It's the same for one of my grands--so difficult to have children at different schools at that age, isn't it? How many Carol Concerts and Sports Days and Granny's luncheons and what-not can a young Mummy do? Apparently the weren't interested in the OTHER Uncle getting involved and getting him slotted at a rather new school that his children from his second (or was it the third? He's had so many) wife attend. I tell you, this school business is SO utterly nerve-racking. In my Day of course you went where Papa went. Even in my son's day this wasn't too far off the mark. Today it's a free-for-all. Rich Asians and Russians and whatnot snapping up places right and left. Why Silvia's grandson had to take a place at a school no one had even heard of! Unthinkable in my day. The boys went to Eton or Harrow and that was that. Today they talk of "school fit" and "goal fit" and other nonsense. Tradition is not even considered. An outrage! Dear One agrees, but as he has no desire to do anything helpful for HIS old school, he can't speechify on the subject--much to MY and everyone else's relief.