caroljane

William's Diary

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Dear Diary, 

I was cornered after my polo game recently by "Woody" Johnson, a nice fellow who owns a football team (not real football of course) and is the American ambassador and  a crony of the President with bags of money, like all ambassadors.  He seemed a bit embarrassed and asked for a private word, a "heads-up" as it were, about an official diplomatic protest he has signed that will be delivered tomorrow.

 Oh no, said I, if it is official that is Theresa's bailiwick.  I know, he replied, but this talk,is strictly unofficial , and Theresa had said, in essence that as it concerned royal affairs exclusively she was not going to respond to "that wretched creature" officially until the last moment she absolutely had to. And as I know Theresa and Woody are quite matey, I settled down resignedly for my unwanted briefing.

Oh dear.  

Luckily the refreshment- tent had a healthy split or three of Dom still on ice, as Woody outlined to me the two main areas of grievance , all concerned with ancient history in Court Circular terms -- ie Harry's wedding.... oh, no, Charlotte is doing somersaults and showing her underwear again and those underwear designers get so outraged when they don't get credit like the dress designers....to be contin.......

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On 6/23/2018 at 1:27 PM, caroljane said:

Dear Diary, 

I was cornered after my polo game recently by "Woody" Johnson, a nice fellow who owns a football team (not real football of course) and is the American ambassador and  a crony of the President with bags of money, like all ambassadors.  He seemed a bit embarrassed and asked for a private word, a "heads-up" as it were, about an official diplomatic protest he has signed that will be delivered tomorrow.

 Oh no, said I, if it is official that is Theresa's bailiwick.  I know, he replied, but this talk,is strictly unofficial , and Theresa had said, in essence that as it concerned royal affairs exclusively she was not going to respond to "that wretched creature" officially until the last moment she absolutely had to. And as I know Theresa and Woody are quite matey, I settled down resignedly for my unwanted briefing.

Oh dear.  

Luckily the refreshment- tent had a healthy split or three of Dom still on ice, as Woody outlined to me the two main areas of grievance , all concerned with ancient history in Court Circular terms -- ie Harry's wedding.... oh, no, Charlotte is doing somersaults and showing her underwear again and those underwear designers get so outraged when they don't get credit like the dress designers....to be contin.......

DD, As I was writing after Catherine Walker interrupted, with a hand-wringing harangue which it took a while to quell, all about standards and foundation garments-- Woody was a great help here, apparently he has four sisters and three daughters.

The President has two main grievances about Harry's wedding,  the first one is that he has wishes Woody to stress. He never wanted to go to it and had many more important engagements on that date. However he has heard that the entire guest list was constructed only to exclude him, which he does not care about except that Melania and Ivanka had dresses far better than any of the other guests had, and it was a slight on them as the world's most important women , which somebody will  pay for.

Second was the bride's veil.which his confidential sources (ie Voque mgazine) reports was embroidered with 50 countries' flower emblems, plus the  Californiq poppy,  but not the Stars and Stripes. He has signed an Executive order to institute an inquiry if this is legal and maybe to "lock her up", if not.

When he saw my alarm, Woody steadied my arm as he poured me another glass.

"It's not urgent.  Executive Orders are like Time in the great old hymn --"like an ever'flowing stream, bears all its sons away"..

He is a religious kind of chap so I hope he is right.Always like Abide with Me though it is a bit lugubrious.

Ich dien,

William

 

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Dear Diary,

Here I am in Israel and Jordan, not at the same time of course, where I did not know I would be until McKillock was packing my bags and I asked him for what?

"The Mid-East, Sir" he replied imperturbably. Servants always know everything first!

"The mideast of what?" cried dear K, distressed. "I hope you mean mid-Essex because that is where you promised me a weekend break without the children!"

I shrugged helplessly. Luckily the Undersecretary of the Foreign Service Mesopotamian Desk was announced at that moment.

"Now see here" I fulminated. "I cannot go haring off to that hot dry place right now, with the England game coming up. Also, I know nothing about Israel except what I learned from that old movie Exodus - which is in my opinion a classic - but still, it did not portray Britain all that favourably as I recall."

""Indeed sir, time has shown critical opinion has found the portrayals of Sir Alec Guinness to be ....

"Fine, fine", I countered crisply. "But I cannot set off knowing only what I saw in a movie with my nanny when I was 10...surely!"

"Of course you can, Sir, most people go over there only knowing what they read in the Bible!" said the undersecretary, chuckling.

"Sir Alec was dead brilliant in that movie" opined McKillop as he folded my favourite trousers for watching matches. I caught his eye. "That Paul Newman was a good hero, but he didn't  look Jewish enough to me... oh, Sir, apparently Prince Hussain is a big footie fan, and you will be there on the day of the England-Belgium game. Should I pack your England jersey, or would that be what they call provocative.?"

So here I am.

Ich dien,

William

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Dear Diary,

 

Well, really, I mean to say.  A man comes home from a four days' slog in Religion Central, at which I am assured I did rather well - there was one tricky moment when I blanked out a bit with the Greek Orthodox chappies, but McKillop  whispered "Mandria the Cypriot Greek - Hugh Griffith I believe?" and I was able to place it all - although I did get a bit giggly looking at the saintly crew and thinking of Hugh Griffith's other roles--

Back on point, after a long weeks' work I expected a welcome from Dear K and our beloved children, but I was ushered into an empty set of rooms at Kensy Pally!  Where is my family, I cried emotionally.

After conferring with the second footman, McKillop reassured me.  K had gone to her parents' place with the baby as soon as my plane departed. (No surprise there, I thought bitterly, I wonder how many more cousins and old school chums she has acquired in my absence). She had left George and Charlotte right next door with Uncle Harry and Aunt Megs and they were very well and happy.

Relieved to know the form, I will just change out of my non-political neutral flying suit, which I notice is getting a bit tight, and maybe watch a quick rewind of match highlights, and then I shall reclaim my children and call Bucklebury. Ah here is McKillop with an  Irn Bru Windsor Ice - his specialty.  Must see if he could get a rise.  Maybe we could dispense with one of the nannies, do we really need four?  And where are they all, anyway?

Ich dien,

William

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Dear Diary, 

Barely had I had the first sip of my Irby Ice when the door was knocked upon very forcefully, and dear old Harry practically fell into the room!

We exchanged greetings, and I thought his handshake was even more fervent than usual. He looked rather haggard, I thought, and was very glad to see me. He suggested that I come next door to see my children who had so missed me, even declining  an Irby I while I changed, so unlike him.

He opened the door and I expected two small bodies to barrel out and grab my legs, but I saw nothing but a large untidy heap dominating the floor. The I saw Megs' head above the untidy heap, just glowing as usual (does she put on makeup every half hour?), and she said "Hallo, William, we are just playing Legos here, want to join us?"

Well I didn't frankly, so I said "Maybe later".

"Well then, George and Charlie, chop-chop! Here is Daddy to take you home now!"

My two eldest children emerged sulkily from the heap. "Want to stay here. We are have a new castle all for our ownselves! All Lego! Aunt Megs promised!"

Maybe later, I said, teeth clenched. Now they must go home, and Bronwen will put you to bed..."

"No she  won't, hee-hee ", "she has gone off "cried George, "well, somewhere.."

"And Maria, and Antonia, and Maribeth are all gone off too I suppose."

"Oh yes," said Charlotte. "Mama needed them to help with that brother you brought us. Can you take him back? We don't want him, do we George?"

Why  visions of my Aunt Anne flashed into my mind I do not know."McKillop" I shouted as I manhandled the sparring two into our own doorway. "Another Ice if you please, and what can you tell me about bathing children at bedtime?"

Ich dien,

William

 

 

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caroljane? Isn't your post treasonous? Don't you fear the Royal Canadian Mounted Police will knock on your door?

Knock! Knock! Open up. This is Sergeant Preston of the RCMP!  

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On 7/2/2018 at 2:27 PM, Peter said:

caroljane? Isn't your post treasonous? Don't you fear the Royal Canadian Mounted Police will knock on your door?

Knock! Knock! Open up. This is Sergeant Preston of the RCMP!  

Oh Peter, you are so out of date! the Mounties already knocked, but it was Sgt Paul the star of North and South,  a native of Iqalit,and his trusty wolf Diefenbaker, and let me say they learn how to knock in the long winters in the Northwest Territories.

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Dear Diary,

Finally McKillop and I got the chidren to bed, with only the aid of an-under housemaid who was going off duty and frankly had to be bribed,

My phone call to Bucklebury was answered by my mother-in-law and she replied delightedly that she hoped to see me there soon. I breathed deeply through my nose, as I was taught at nursery school when the other children made faces at me.   

"Carole," I replied calmly," I hope to see my wife and my son, and all the nannies we employ, here at our home sometime soon." "Oh, well!" she said. somewhat disconcerted, "they are out just now, but I will certainly tell Kate to call you " "Oh good! Toodle-oo" I said. I do not know why I said such a ridiculous thing. Maybe jetlag.

Ich dien.

William

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Dear Diary,

several kind friends have shared photos of me and my head, from my recent visit to the Middle East. from which I have  the implication that I and mu head are two separate entities/

All very funny but looking at that photo, my head does look alarmingly large. As if there were another, smaller head atop it.

I consulted with the family..

"Looks like a good plot of herbs to harvest --  remember when Pa got his hair transplanted?" guffawed Harry.

"Bald men are the sexiest men" whispered Meghan. "And with more room to be bald, the better the balder, you know?"

"No doubt your head does look large there". said Dearest K in here bracing way. "It simply shows all the room you have in there for your brains, darling! 

Or, you know-- all the room you have in there, anyway."

I feel comforted, I think.

Ich dien,

William

 

 

 

 

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Dear Diary,

Just returned from checking on Grandmamma, as it is my turn  in rota after American visits for the last year or so.

She was lying upon the sofa in the Blue Withdrawing toom, with a cold cloth over her eyes, but sat up and called for tea immediately.

The Trumps were not too bad, she reported, although he did keep darting his eyes around as if he were evaluating a property for sale, and Mrs T noticed that and said to me loudly, "Nice Palace you have here, Ma'am" as if to distract from him. Grandmamma thought that was rather endearing, as she recalls many such occasions when dear Grandpapa caused awkward pauses in convrsation.,

The president praised the beautiful grounds of Balmoral , which he had seen on Fox News on the Illuminati, whatever they are,  and asked if Her Majesty had played golf on them.

Years of training gave her the answer -- broad beaming smile, while she thought of what on earth to say. The president took a sip of tea, curling his little finger  as hard as he could curl it. It was hard to distinguish from his other fingers.

"No, not yet," she replied, "But I hope someday to say "Tee off!"

Ich dien.

William

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Dear Diary,

Wonderful Mustique, sea, sand, freedom, only a few in-laws around--dearest K and I quite agreed, lying in lovely solitude in our lagoon-front cabana, that we could hear the faint clinking of Great-Aunt Margo's cocktail glasses!

This morning on the beach, as  I was watching Charlotte and George playfully try to drown each other under Maria's eagle eye, I espied Harry, of all people, walking towards us! I had never seen him up at such an early hour before on vacation. Or indeed, at any other time when not strictly on duty. In his hand he bore, not a can of Carib Lager which I thought at first, but some rolled-up paper.

-"Hullo" I cried, "Why such an early bird? The missus kick you out already?" which I accompanied with appropriate gestures.

When he let me up from the headlock, we settled ourselves  in the sand, and he told me he had given it a lot of thought, and consulted with experts, and decided he felt he should write his own speeches from now on.

I was, well, speechless.

"But Harry," was the first thought that came to me. "You can''t put Clive and Ffiona-Elspeth and Vikram and Kevin all out of work just so you can go all jolly literary....."

    "Hoy! Anybody in charge of these kids? Get them away from my bloody JetSki or I'm calling the authorities!"

Oh no, oh dear, ich dien, W

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Dear Diary/

What a kerfuffle the anti-social media have decided to cause, when the band of the Welsh Guards played "Respect" on the day of Aretha Franklin's funeral during the changing if the guard at Buck House.

Dame Shirley Basseyl,being Welsh, has already claimed credit for the choice,and of course Megs is said to have asked for it, and some even have said that Aunt Anne, carried away by the eloquence of the bishop at Harry's wedding,  said that it needed a musical accompinament. Grandfather was just restrained from commenting that plenty of respectable Britons were buried every day,  but nobody wrote songs about them - the worst thing is that George and Charlotte now go around chanting "give me a little respect, uh-huh" until I think I will go mad.

I do understand irony, we did it at Eton and again in Art Appreciation at St A's. sort of. But I do not think I can explain it to them.

Ich dien, William

 

 

 

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What do our northern neighbors think of The New Baby, and they were supposedly kicked out of the house?

And we wonder why we don’t let today’s kids watch those, politically incorrect, old movies, or look at a Virginia Governor’s old yearbook either.

Gruesome lyrics to “Animal Crackers in my Soup,” as sung by Shirley Temple, unchanged by me.

Animal crackers in my soup
Monkeys and rabbits loop the loop
Gosh oh gee but I have fun
Swallowing animals one by one.

In every bowl of soup I see
Lions and Tigers watching me
I make 'em jump right through a hoop
Those animal crackers in my soup.

When I get hold of the big bad wolf
I just push him under to drown
Then I bite him in a million bits
And I gobble him right down.

When they’re inside me where it's dark
I walk around like Noah’s Arc
I stuff my tummy like a goop
With animal crackers in my soup.

Animal crackers in my soup
Do funny things to me
They make me think my neighborhood
Is a big menagerie

For instance there's our Janitor
His name is Mr. Klein
And when he Hollers at us kids
He reminds me of a Lion.

And now, here is an even more un-PC variation with a different intro, and with more punctuation, from the video of Shirley Temple singing. Odd.

Once Mother said "My little pet
You ought to learn your alphabet!"
So in my soup I used to get
All the letters of the alphabet
I learned them all from A to Z
And now my Mother's giving me

Animal crackers in my soup
Monkeys and rabbits loop the loop
Gosh, oh gee! but I have fun
Swallowing animals one by one

In every bowl of soup I see
Lions and tigers watching me
I make 'em jump right through a hoop
Those animal crackers in my soup

When I get hold of the big bad wolf
I just push him under to drown
Then I bite him in a million bits
And I gobble him right down!

When they're inside me where it's dark
I walk around like Noah's Ark
I stuff my tummy like a goop
With animal crackers in my soup!

Animal crackers in my soup
Do funny things to me
They make me think my neighborhood
Is a big menagerie

For instance, there's our Janitor
His name is Mr. Klein
And when he hollers at us kids
He reminds me of a lion

The grocer is so big and fat
He has a big mustache
He looks just like a walrus
Just before he takes a splash!

Songwriters: IRVING CAESAR,RAY HENDERSON,TED KOEHLER © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc. For non-commercial use only. Data From: LyricFind

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Meanwhile, The Animal Liberation movement has succeeded in bringing The Jimmy Dean Company to its knees. The chant of “No more sausage biscuits!” has succeeded said, Peppa Pig.   

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