Let me introduce myself, I’m Elsie. Now as you can’t actually see me and just in case you’re interested, as my name would suggest I’m female. I’m comfortably padded, fair haired and fiftyish – think telly tubby in a wig. Unlike a telly tubby I do like the odd cigarette and I have been known to have a glass or two of wine; just to be polite you understand.
Normally I don’t give two hoots about being PC, but I’ll on this occasion I’ll try - considering we are going to be talking about the most powerful woman in the country. I can’t say I relish the idea of being banged up at her majesty’s pleasure. To be blunt her majesty can go get her pleasures elsewhere.
Now then, you would like me to tell you about this Jubilee malarkey.
No? Well you should.
It’s not just about sitting in the middle of the street, stuffing yourself with jelly and waving a flag you know – though a lot of people will be. If you’ve been out and bought a load of bunting, before you put it up, just think on; did you ask this woman and her family to go potterng about the country in a posh car, waving and smiling at your expense. No, I thought not.
If you’re a member of the landed gentry (which of course I’m not) things are better than they used to be. When QE1 went on progress, some poor old baron would end up almost bankrupt. Her Maj liked to be kept in the manner she was accustomed to. She’d arrive and stay for weeks on end, eating and drinking her way through the old barons stores, then she’d clambered into her carriage and wave her way on to the next rich mug.
At least now we all equally bear the burden of the costs; every citizen is forced contributing to the royal purse via Her Majesty’s Customs and Revenue. At this point - despite what you might think - I’d just like to point out that we’re not actually citizens of a democracy; we’re subjects.
I guess, I’ll have to be a bit careful what I say; wouldn’t want to lose my head now would I. Okay, so HRH hasn’t sent anyone to the tower, nor has she ever had anyone beheaded, but hey, she could if she wanted to.
Oh . . . I’ve just been told she doesn’t have the powers to do that.
Well, that’s a relief.
I get quite angry when I think too hard about it. Damn it, she’s not even a thoroughbred English woman, why should I curtsey tug my forelock?
Oh . . . I’ve been told I can’t say that, it’s racist. I I’ve also been told that the pure breed English person doesn’t exist anymore; apparently, throughout history, once we stopped fighting them, we interbred with the Saxons, the romans and anyone else who had the energy invade us.
I’m getting side tracked, where was I? Ah, right, yes, to sum it up the jubilee is all about celebrating an unelected, multi–millionairess and her family and hangers on, having ruled over us for the last 60 years. We’re expected to celebrate the work she has done promoting our country; bringing in tourist; forging alliances and good will abroad. We’re expected to go out and enjoy ourselves; to eat drink and be merry and to take a day off work(with pay).
Hmm . . . actually that doesn’t sound too bad.
Well if you can’t beat them . . . “can someone pass me a sausage roll for the corgis, and flag and some jelly please please?”.
© Lindsey Chapman http://word-weaving.blogspot.com/