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.

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