Thursday, 9 May 2013

The Queen’s Debrief

Dear Diary.

Had to open that dreadful place today. All those bloody Eton boys are supposed to be my loyal subjects but, looking around me, I wouldn’t trust a single one of them as a cloakroom attendant so I kept my crown securely on my head the whole time and clung onto my purse with a vice-like grip. I’ve had plenty of practice ever since I caught bloody Charles trying it on – he had his day at Caernarfon and he can sodding-well wait his turn.

I’m an old lady and I shouldn’t have to put up with this charade. Opening Parliament? Don’t be ridiculous, we have a man with a bunch of keys for that. And anyway, it’s not our Parliament any more – the EU will do away with it as soon as they think they can do it without a fuss and sell it off for flats. Maybe I should give Charles a go with the crown after all? It might be his only chance.

Anyway, it was the usual dreary guff: taxes, or was it taxis? I get them confused because I have people for that sort of thing. I read in the papers every now and then about how I pay tax then get paid from tax and then they tax me on it and to be honest it does one’s head in. I was just reading from a script really but I do remember a few bits. It seems like they are planning on putting up the pension, which is a nice. It can be hard to get by, especially heating that place of mine.

But how can they do it? I’m no economist but even I can see that trying to increase pensions at the same time as taking many people out of taxation can only end in tears. Especially as they are talking about spending yet more millions on promoting the European Union. Am I having a flashback? Didn’t they do all that in 1975 when they spent all that money on all that doom-mongering propaganda? That was a depressing time. I do hope that nice Mr Farage can jolly us all up – Philip likes the cut of his jib.

Now, the bit about cutting red tape amused me no end. Amateurs, all of them; if you want to know about cutting red tapes, I’m your girl. I’ve cut more red tape in my life than you will ever know, young Cameron. I’ve cut miles of the stuff and all around the world, too. Philip nodded off during that bit – he’s still a bit miffed that he never gets to use the scissors.

But I had to nudge him awake when we got to the immigration bits; he’s always been very keen on that sort of thing and he’s a bit concerned that this new lot want to curb it. Phil thinks it’s marvellous they’re letting all these people in. After years of flying all over the bloody planet, he says, it will be nice if all he has to do is take a stroll down The Mall to be surrounded by hordes of unintelligible brown people.
Hang on to your wallet Phil! 

Anyway, that’s all over for another year. I’m getting a bit tired of it all if I’m honest with myself. Sixty sodding times I've done it. What was it Daddy used to say? Oh yes. F-f-f-fuck this for a game of s-s-s-soldiers!

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