2669. On becoming a princess

I have always been a bit cynical about these Commoners who marry a Prince and become a Princess? I’m sure there’s a great deal of ambition and lust for prestige hidden in there somehow. They marry a Prince and before you can blink they have at the very least become a Duchess.

I had no idea it would happen to me.

I was at university pursuing a degree in Etruscan Pottery. There was a bachelor Prince in the class chasing after the same advanced degree. He was handsome! Handsome, rich, titled, and available! What more could a common girl such as me want? Of course all the other females in the class went gar-gar. It was sickening to see grown women flouncing about trying to get noticed by someone with a title.

Then something strange began to happen. One by one these women were dying. It was poisoning apparently. There were seven deaths over the course of the academic year. It started around the time the Prince started dating me.

I had asked the Prince when he gets married what title would his wife get, and he said she would become a Countess or maybe a Duchess. But if his older brother died – who was the heir to the throne – then he (my Prince) would become the heir and I would become a Princess.

 Would you believe? Having married the Prince, here I am a Countess already. Good things take time. I’m quietly working on becoming a Princess.

2617. My Coronation Sussex Chickens

Warning: Do not read this if you think chickens are pets.

With all this brouhaha going on in the British royal family with the Duke and Duchess of Sussex I thought today’s story fitted into the slot. The picture is of my rooster and hen. (A red hen has got into the photo but we shall ignore her).

The rooster and hen are of a special breed of poultry called “Coronation Sussex”. They are called that because they were developed from a breed of chicken called “Sussex” and were developed to mark an important coronation jubilee celebrated at some stage by the late Queen of England. Presumably she had had so many jubilees that the ordinary run-of-the-mill subjects were running out of ideas and a new breed of chicken was a grand idea to mark the occasion.

In real life they are actually quite beautiful: pure white with a gorgeous grey tail and neck. After finding the breed online and where to get some fertile eggs I drove for 3 hours to pick the eggs up and 3 hours to return. (This is before the price of petroleum sky-rocketed).

A dozen chickens hatched and six were hens and six were roosters. I kept the handsomest rooster and the other roosters went into the pot.

Before long the rooster grew nasty and vicious. No one could pass through the yard without getting attacked. At feeding time I had to walk backwards holding a stick in order to prevent the rooster from drawing blood. The breed might have looked lovely but their personalities were not my cup of tea.

I bet you too that the late queen had no idea that the Sussexes would cause such trouble. My solution was simple and effective. I pass it on to King Charles for his consideration. It has royal precedence. I chopped the strutting cockerel’s head off.

2295. Heirs and cousins

I am something like the 274^th heir in line to the Spanish throne. My great great great grandfather had been deposed by a younger brother. If that hadn’t happened I’d be the first in line today. I should really lay claims, but I’d have to get rid of the current monarch first!

However, I’m perfectly content with the life I have. I don’t have to lay awake all night worrying about the crown jewels or whether the Prime Minister is ruining the economy. Instead I’m happy to do what I’m doing and enjoy home life with my wife and four daughters.

Of course being European royalty – no matter how distant – basically means I’m related to almost every royal personage in the Old World!  A lot of inbreeding went on back then. There was a fuss when I myself got married because my wife is my third cousin twice removed. Some said I was asking for trouble. But it was distant enough not to matter.

Besides, I quite enjoy being married to the Queen of Spain.

2207. I Spied: Queen Elizabeth II

(Stories posted on Mondays on this blog – at least for a while – will present famous people I once spotted, albeit from a distance.)

It was 1970. Queen Elizabeth II, Prince Philip, and youthful Prince Charles and Princess Anne were to visit the Sunken Garden in the city of Napier’s Marine Parade. The Queen had instituted the “walkabout”. She would walk along the street with a barricade preventing subjects from getting too close, and offer a gloved hand to thrilled and glowing underlings spontaneously selected.

Napier is an eastern coastal city half way up New Zealand’s North Island. It is best known for a devastating earthquake in 1931 that killed lots of people. My mother was in it! As the city was completely rebuilt in the 1930s, it is an outstanding example of the Art Deco style of the time. And on the seafront it has a sunken garden with a floral clock.

I lived within biking distance from the sunken garden. In those days you could lean your bike against a lamp post and it would still be there when you came back. My friend said, “Let’s go see the queen.” It had never occurred to me to do that, so we hopped on our bikes and set off.

My friend and I had a technique to get to the front of a crowd, and indeed on this day the crowd lining the street was impassable. We needed to get to the front. In those days the Catholic Mass was in Latin and we had both been altar boys. Separated from each other by a few yards we started calling out Latin to each other as if we were having a conversation in a foreign language (even though we didn’t have a clue what it meant). The crowd stepped aside. We important foreigners walked to the front for a brilliant view.

AND… HERE THEY COME! The queen toddled past to applause followed by Charles and Anne. Prince Philip lagged behind. He clearly too often stopped to chat to people. As he passed the lady next to me called out, “Hey Duke, come over here!” He turned, wagged his finger at her, and said “Aha! Aha!”

Oh my goodness me! That was the day Prince Philip said “Aha! Aha!” and I saw…

Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second

2037. We gotta git outta here

(Another challenging opening sentence, this time supplied by the Dumbest Blogger at the Dumbest blog ever. If you want to join in the fun of suggesting a future opening sentence for these stories, please leave your suggestion in the comments – only one suggestion per person!)

I married Prince Harry for prestige and money. I had no idea what other baggage would come along for the ride. Let me explain.

Getting the title Duchess of Sussex – and by appropriation Harry got given Duke of Sussex – was the first insult. Duchess of Success would have been much better, or even to have been the Duchess of Sexsucks. But Sussex, goodness me. I said to Harry the day after the wedding, “We gotta git outta here”. Harry agreed.

And then with all this money available to me and I’m not allowed to go shopping. Why bother having money at all? I said to Harry, two days after the wedding, “We gotta git outta here”. Harry agreed.

Harry too was sick to death of all the relatives and all the bowing and scraping that goes on. All these women who curtsy to me like they’ve got some bobbying-down disease. Then I was expected to curtsy first to the queen and she didn’t curtsy back. I said to Harry, three days after the wedding, “We gotta git outta here”. Harry agreed.

And food? Fish and chips instead of a Big Mac. I said to Harry, four days after the wedding, “We gotta git outta here”.

It’s now five days after the wedding and the queen won’t let me wear a tiara to a State dinner because only direct heirs to the throne or something get to wear them. How many of her tiaras can she wear at once? So I’m not going to the State Dinner for President Trump. Everyone seems to think it’s because I hate Trump. The hatred is true but I’m not going because I’m not allowed to wear a tiara. Kate’s allowed to wear a tiara. I said to Harry, “We gotta git outta here”. Harry agreed. He agrees with everything I say.

So here we are in LA living like scum in our multi-million dollar chalet. Harry hates it. He said to me, “We gotta git outta here”. What an incompetent, spineless wimp. I said as much to him. I said ‘You’re an incompetent, spineless wimp. I married for prestige and money and look at me now. I used to be a wonderful actress, and now I can’t even act like the Duchess of Sussex. You made the bed. You lie in it. I’ve got a date with Netflix’.”

Actually come to think of it, the Duchess of Netflix sounds like quite a nice title. And once I git Harry killed off, the Dowager of Netflix sounds even better.”

1659. Ouch!

(Grateful thanks to Keith for producing the opening sentence.)

Ouch!

Much surely should have been written about what exactly did Mary, Queen of Scots, say when the first stroke of the axe missed her neck and hit her on the back of the head. Of course, the second blow severed the neck, except for a small bit of sinew, which the executioner cut through using the axe.

There have been, or should have been, many theories as to what she intended to say. All that was passed down verbally was that she was heard to utter OW! when the first blow of the axe struck.

Some claim that what she was intending to say was a quotation from a psalm: “OUr days are no more than a watch in the night.” Others say it was to confess to wearing a wig: “OUr hair is not our own.” Still others maintain that she was going to say something in French, which certainly confirms her guilt in all matters.

But a British Lord has come up with a novel explanation. She simply intended to say said “Ouch!” I mean, who wouldn’t?

1326. A handsome prince or two

Bodice and Eunice were two relatively unattractive princesses who were into hats in a big way. They were sisters.

One day a handsome prince came to the castle and Bodice and Eunice were on their best behaviour – he was so handsome. Bodice wore a large hat with fruit on it, whereas Eunice’s hat sported pinecones and fluffy rabbits’ tails. The handsome prince found them relatively unattractive (both the princesses and the hats). When he was offered the hand of either one in marriage he almost spewed his guts out.

He threw a golden ring into the castle’s huge goldfish pond, and said he would marry whoever found the ring – princess or not.

Bodice and Eunice set to work, draining the fishpond and gutting all the fish. No luck. The ring was not to be found. There were fish guts everywhere, and the place stank.

The brother of Bodice and Eunice, whose name was Bevan (you haven’t heard anything of him until now) was walking along near the fishpond, and he saw a man hiding behind a bush.

“Pssst!” said the man behind the bush. He gave Bevan the golden ring. “Show this to the handsome prince.”

The handsome prince was called forth. Bevan showed him what he had been given. The handsome prince looked remarkably like the man behind the bush.

They lived happily ever after.

1289. Snob

The Queen of the country made an important announcement: next Thursday she would turn up with her entourage at any house in the kingdom – chosen at random – and have dinner.

Goodness me! Did the country go into a flap? Every household prepared a sumptuous dinner. Windows were cleaned, toilet bowls were brushed, everything was spick and span. What if the Queen came to our little house?

All were ready except apparently for Tommy Ursendoff in his little house in the country. “If she comes here she can sod off,” said Tommy Ursendoff. “I’ll give her a raw carrot and tell her to shove it. I’m not bowing and scraping to some pretentious old git. If she was going to pay, that would be another story altogether.”

You already know, gentle reader, that the inevitable will happen. Out of the millions of houses in the Kingdom, whose house should be chosen at random? Why of course! Lady Brackenbury-ffodalia-Battenberg-Courtney-Weasal was chosen. She was a personal friend of the monarch. Her husband was an Earl. The Queen had a wonderful time devouring fresh strawberries floating in a vanilla sauce.

In the meantime, Tommy Ursendoff had much to say: “She did not come here because she doesn’t like to piss into yesterday’s toilet bowl. She’s a snob of the highest order.”

837. The royal pig

Once there was a beautiful princess, called Gabriellina. Her hair shone golden as the sun. Her skin was white as fresh snow. Her lips were as red as a ripe near-rotting nectarine. Her breasts (As The Songs of Songs might say) were like a couple of sheep coming out of a sheep dip. This overall combination strikes me as quite ugly, but she wasn’t. She was… woof, woof, woof.

Her father, the king, had promised her hand in marriage to a pig. A pig! A real oink oink oink pig. Not a human being who acted like a pig, but a hog. One that makes bacon. A real grunting boar.

“You never know,” said the king. “The pig is possibly the victim of some horrible spell caste by a gruesome witch. He is really a handsome prince. The spell will be broken when my beautiful princess marries him.”

The wedding was arranged. The kingdom celebrated. There were street parties and everything.

The princess appeared on the balcony with her newly married pig. They kissed. The pig turned into a frog.

To listen to the story being read click HERE!

125. Norman’s Invasion

Norman was the father of seven when his wife died. He brought them up on his own. They were all extraordinary children; sporty, intelligent, generous.

Eadlin specialised at Cambridge University in Celtic languages. She could speak Irish, Scottish Gaelic and Welsh, and was working towards a doctorate in traditional Cornish poetry. She was an extraordinarily good viola player, as well as representing her country in women’s high jump at the Olympics. It was no surprise when the British heir to the throne, Prince George, fell in love with her. They were married at Westminster Abbey and half the world fell in love with the future Queen Eddie.

Of course, at the wedding there were Royals from all over the place. And so it happened that Eadlin’s six siblings mingled with sovereigns and their children:

Giles met Princess Benedikte-Elisabeth, the heir to the Danish throne. They eventually married.

Holly met Prince Guillaume François, the heir in Belgium. They eventually married.

Xavier met Princess Catharina, the heir in the Netherlands. They eventually married.

Bonnie met Prince Pablo, the heir to the Spanish throne. They eventually married.

Zachary met Princess Estelle, the heir to the Swedish throne. They eventually married.

Sonja didn’t meet anyone special at Eadlin’s wedding. She later found her true love when the plumber came to fix the sink in her apartment.

Norman, their father, was delighted. The Press referred to it as Norman’s Invasion. No one knew that six of his seven children (Sonja was the exception) carried an incurable gene that caused madness.