The Queen’s Front Room. Other peoples Bedrooms and KY Jelly.

Whoever advised our blessed Queen to let some slimy journalist into her front room to photograph her must have been mad. I have been really upset by this “romaine a klee” into her other existence as a middle class nan who needs to declutter. It has completely destroyed my vision of pristine well kept housekeeping I had always imagined to be the royal prerogative. It is the kind of room which is guaranteed to make one feel rather depressed. For example the awful clash of tartans, dreadful hammer house of horror photos, rather soiled empty dog beds, stuffed toys, plastic plants and a miserable convector heater, it could be a good feature for one of those makeover programmes on TV. I wonder if the royal corgis were nowhere to be seen because they don’t like the stuffed replica on the side table? I suppose all “Gods” have feet of clay, talking of which why do old ladies in pleated skirts that stop just below the knee always sit with their knees slightly apart? It is not a good look , the only thing which would have made the photo totally authentic was a pair of fluffy bedroom slippers. It is this that has made me suspicious, I think it is a spoof, if the Queen really lived in that room she would have had slippers, also there were no books …… none of this rings true, it is a conspiracy to bring down the monarchy. The Queen is not allowed to be like all of us it is just not fitting.

We once dined with a very pompous bishop of advancing years whose wife had a full moustache. After dinner the ladies were escorted by the said lady to the nuptial bedroom to powder their noses. My eagle eye immediately spotted a large tube of KY jelly on the bedside table, I was rather impressed by this, and for a moment saw the bishop in a new light. The bishop’s lady followed my glance, hurried to the table and put the tube in the bedside drawer. This was a tactical error on her part (forgive the pun it was irresistible) because it sealed beyond doubt the furtive attitude to sex which lurked in the bishops palace. The moral to these two stories is never allow people into your bedroom, or bathroom or into your private sitting room if you are the Queen. I was once sick in someone’s loo during afternoon tea, now that was an emergency I grant you, but by and large such places do not bear close inspection. I have always remembered the said loo to be scrupulously clean, it was a bench mark for me in radical lavatory cleaning, if you are selling your house great attention must be given to this, I am told it is one of the first things people look at. I have just got a book about the reason for disgust, things like double dipping spoons in the Hellman’s jar , lack of handwashing, runny noses and suchlike, I now know all my phobias are well supportive by basic survival instincts, I am feeling truly vindicated.

Shock Horror Fatalities from Statins.

Four months ago the following people died from taking statins, Grace Lively, Consuela Fernandez, Margaret Lively, Algernon Lively, Sir Hartley Shagwell, Peter Zuleikon, Jane Browning, a little boy called Pepe and many others royalty included, not to mention the entire crew on a naval voyage of great importance. You don’t believe me? Well yes they did and it was statins that killed them. But the good news is that, they have all mysteriously come to life again. You don’t believe me? Oh yes they did, I know because they are my people, and by and large I am in control of them except when they get sassy and get a mind of their own, which is quite often. You see they are all characters in my new book Summer’s Grace. Four months ago along with many millions of the population, I was advised to take statins, the drug now suggested for everyone over fifty to lower your cholesterol. This is supposed to stop you having a stroke or a heart attack. What they don’t tell you that they are an Orwellian way of dumbing down the population to a state where they are lethargically confined to their homes watching TV putting on weight and with hardly enough energy to open the front door. Thus they will cause no trouble and live to be a mindless cadaver in a chair getting a telegram from the Queen (or King) just thought I had better put that in.

I obediently went down the brain dead road and lost the will to live a normal life really. I got writers block because I could no longer retain the necessary facts with which to operate the tools of my trade, I have never had it before, it is horrible and makes you depressed because writing is a therapy for me an escape into a world of my choosing. For the first time in my life I could not be bothered to tidy my underwear drawer. The five flights of stairs were almost impossible and I crawled up them moaning which got the occupants of all the rooms poking their heads out, I can tell you. And to cap it all I developed digestive problems which made life very unpleasant. The worst part was that sleep was virtually impossible. Then I researched a bit, everything I had was a side effect. I stopped taking the bloody things and hey presto the mind cleared, blessed sleep came back like an angel of mercy, and the digestive problem disappeared, and I lost weight. So there they all are, all the people I mentioned earlier plus a neglected address book resurrected . The cupboards are tidy, I am leaping up and down the stairs like a gazelle and yes I would rather be dead that in the hinterland of statins. And what is more some cholesterol is good for you but they can’t be bothered to tell you that.

Balls Hits Out Below the Belt, Vodka down The Drain and The Pre Cohabitation Pre Nup.

With a name like Balls, you would think that remarks about the area where those things are normally kept, except of course the sporting variety, would be avoided. Well no  actually, there is Ed of the swimmy eyes at the Labour “Knees up” making a jibe at Dave for making do with a small mickey mouse towel when changing out of his knickers after a swim. I think he meant that he would have required an enormous one to hide his modesty in similar circumstances. The whole idea is too awful to think of, well there you are then we know now don’t we. Moving on.

The atmosphere here is rather frosty of late, it maybe because the Sainted One voluntarily went to get a new bottle of vodka. This unusual act of spontaneity puzzled me . I think this was because he knew that various relatives were coming to stay and the vodka consumption rises considerably. The new bottle was left ostentatiously on the kitchen table. It was of an obscure make and the first sip revealed tasted like drain cleaner. One of the clan poured it down the sink which had up until then been rather blocked, there was a hissing sound and then miracle the water flowed again without protest. We moved onto very good claret…. God Moves in Mysterious Ways. My adorable Polish cleaning assistant replaced the vodka today with the proper stuff.

But this morning an astonishing thing occurred, the S.O addressed a remark to me, it was about the autumn mist. Before I could respond the issuing figure disappeared up the stairs. Conversations before luncheon must never be of a personal nature, this ban has been subtly extended to dinner, but the weather is usually safe. I will not suggest a Vodka and Tonic tonight, that might start something off again you know, like the glass of wine thing. “So you want a glass of wine?” …. “Yes I would rather like one,” … “Why do you want one?”…..” because I feel like one, it has been a long day”………. “You’re getting rather fat round the middle , are you sure you want one?” … “ Yes I am quite sure,”…….. “ “But you had one yesterday”……. “ No that was last Friday,”…… “ Well if you are quite sure,” … “ Yes I am quite sure,”….. “What happened to the Vodka I got , the bottle was full,”……. NO RESPONSE FROM MOI…….. “ So you want a glass of wine, there was some open yesterday,” …… “It was only a glass, it has gone,” ….. “Gone where, who drank it?”……… “ I don’t know,”……. “ So you still want a glass of wine, do you want me to open another bottle?” Five minutes later after more of the same…… “ I don’t want a frigging glass of wine now, so you know what can do with it.”

It works you see, my psychotherapist friend tells me it’s classic passive aggressive. They always get what they think they want, the big question is how much do they actually enjoy it when they get it?

It has come to my attention that young men are resistant to cohabiting with girls nowadays because they are quite likely to be turfed out of their own property and replaced by a beefy central European sports trainer who will reap the benefits of their thrift and hard work, and in one case I heard of the hapless victim had to go on paying the mortgage.

This needs careful attention…  pre cohabitation agreements!

But Crack Horror, the Golf Ball, and The Blackhead.

Apparently nearly all men pick their noses, women are less keen on this probably because it might smudge their make up or whatever. This weekend I had some horrible things to contend with as per the sheer arrogance of the male race who by and large think anything goes and matters of hygiene are for sissies. Mind you being by nature very squeamish these unpleasant visions did wonders for my diet. On the way back from a very elegant gathering in the country on Saturday night we stopped at a Gastro Pub for lunch, actually it should be renamed The “Streptocock” or some such. The place was filthy with tables so thick with grease that your elbows stuck to them like glue, they were short staffed a slutty girl explained. Then it happened, the sweaty youth who was to bring our food had something like a soiled nappy hanging from the back of his trousers just at the top of the cleavage, half the cloth was firmly tucked into that vile area like a sort of but wiper. I gasped in amazement as he pulled it out with a flourish giving his derriere a thorough floss as he did so and proceeded to wipe the plates with it. Sorry folks but is it just the Brits who are so filthy ? As if that was not enough I encountered a man earlier who had a large shiny protuberance sticking out of his forehead, I am told it is an enlarged sebaceous cyst and that rather like Vesuvius it could blow at any minute. This I have also established is easily removable. That is the F—-K You attitude I am getting at. There was another one with a large blackhead on the end of his nose and several examples of nasal and ear hair.

Well thanks to that I have lost four pounds. That and after spending most of my life pretending I can enjoy eating fish I discover that my revulsion to it is because I am a Piscean, and obviously it’s like eating yourself, I did cod for the boys last week and the whole house smelt of it for days. It put me into a depression. Its better now because I went to Peter Jones and bot twelve scented candled and six diffusers.

Got to go back to the George 2nd drawing room. My villain has just appeared his name is Sir Hartley Shagwell.

Warning About Adult Nature of Previous Post.

The nature of the replication on the previous post is one that some of you may find disturbing. I felt it my moral duty to illustrate the worrying trend of shorts for all occasions. The identity of the person in in the photo must remain anonymous. There was an epidemic of the offending item of apparel in my house this morning…. I rest my case boys it is not a good look!!!!!!

Samuel Pepys and the Sainted One , What do They have in Common?

The S. O. should be very flattered actually , I mean to be mentioned in the same breath as the greatest diarist of all time. I once read all the great man’s diary’s at eight AM each morning and didn’t ever read a news paper. I will not disclose how long it took me. It was a marvellous experience and a much better use of my “fabulous” time that the crappy old papers who all say the same stuff but in different words. But back to the comparison, it’s about seasonal clothing. The great Samuel was sown into his winter vest each autumn and was unsown in the spring . One year this event was postponed until June because of unusually inclement weather. Here is the thing , the S. O . sows himself into a pair of khaki shorts in late summer, these are never cleansed because they are not made available for washing during this time ; a guest enquired today if he was off to the beach again? I then pointed out the patina of stains and was treated to a long litany of names of persons who frequently wore shorts, none of these people impressed me however, and I refrained from being the B….. that I am by suggesting that they were twenty something nerds. Anyway “ shortly” after this I was informed that the weather is changing tomorrow and the shorts will can be washed. This has not been good look, that and the wrinkled yellow socks. Mind you when I was at boarding school we only had clean knickers once a week, so who am I to talk? My son is a fashion guru, he just wrote a thing about manbags I wish he would do one on shorts.