Friday, May 06, 2005

It's in the Bag
While I'm glad that P.M. Tony Blair has made it back for round three, despite hanging around with that guy from Texas, I'm at a loss as to one of the mysteries of British royal behaviour. Here, Mr. Blair is receiving congratulations from the Queen Mother (or is that the Mother Queen?) at her residence. Now, I realize (though not through personal experience) that well-behaved servants are hard to recruit these days, especially ones that give you a sense of comfort in youor own house.
But, you would think that the staff at Buckingham Palace can be relied upon. I'm sure they are put through the most vigorous screening and interviewing. You would think these folks can be trusted. Why, then, would the Queeen have to carry her purse around, even in her own house? Is she carrying around the British version of the nuclear launch codes? Or is the wait staff so slow that she's packing Twinkies or a bit of bread and that yeast spread the English are wild about. You know, the stuff that counteracts effects of the Black Plague and the return of Margaret Thatcher. What's in the bag? Perhaps the ever-informative Mr. F. C. Bearded could come up with an inventive solution to this quandry?

Perhaps the black purse is just a more refined Linus blanket? Even the Queen needs her comfort.

Well thank-you for suggesting the topic of my next post, which shall take as its basis the hearsay evidence of an old friend, now sadly gone, who helped install the "new" security system in Buckingham Palace after the "Fagin Affair", when a Londoner broke into the Queen's bedroom and had a little chat with her about how much his life sucked.

That is not the Queen Mother in your photograph.

The handbag, as you shall learn when I find the time to write, is a device for insulting scots. As though we needed one? And a particularly deep insult that I knew nothing about until I sauntered around Edinburgh castle one day with my tiny sprogs, where said offence is eternalized in painters' earwax.
Surely ... or shurely ... it's gin in the purse. Forty little in-flight size bottles of gin. Takes after her mother. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, etc. Especially in the Gin Orchard.
Programs! Programs! Can't tell your royalty without your programs. Thanks for being so kind on my mis-identified Royal Mothers, Mr. F.C. Bearded. I'll have ot pick up "Jane's Royalty Line Identification" tome.
I think f.c.b. has the bag sussed. and the purse she's carrying too. arf arf. (i think she's horrid)...

on more pressing matters, darkoV,
tell me it wasn't YOU who made twinkiehenge!
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Wow! That's an amazing twinkiehenge. Brilliant!
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