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| Talk,
Heather Lennox,
12 February 2001 | |
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In light of Prince William's first public engagement at the Press Complaints Commission's 10th anniversary party accompanied by his errant Dad and England's least loved equine Camilla Parker Bowles (or is it just Parker now?) I need to point out a few observations.
All of the jolliness of the occasion, with the press and so-called "London smart set" quite happy to just forget about the whole 'cheating on Diana from day one business'. Just trot out the Mistress now, the coast is clear. The whole thing still seems so tawdry and graceless to me. Am I alone in my thoughts that the idea of accepting the whole arrangement is monumentally creepy?
Have you noticed news seems to shift about more at certain events? In the first 24 hours we got lots of facts about Diana's crash, then by the third day previous information was retracted. Did you notice Trevor McDonald seemed to hum loudly whenever that bit of news was read? All those Diana crash conspiracy websites really do freak me out; but our own current unsolvable prospects worry me far more.
I was a little girl in America when wee fat-faced Prince William was born. It was as big an affair in the U.S. as it was in the U.K. We were entrenched in the throes of Dynasty, Falcon Crest & Dallas fever. We were so jealous of England. It looked to us as though you had your own living breathing Joan Collins 'witch bitch' character (Queenie), 'Cinderella' Crystal Carrington (Di) and 'troll from the 3 billy goats gruff' Jock Ewing (Queen Mum). With all their royal dramas on the news everyday, we watched from a fairy tale world that played the Falcon Crest theme tune over and over, and we loved it more than cheeseburgers on heroine.
At 12, I was quite happy to assume that the 'Royals' were just like The Colby's: dripping in pearls and big gold earrings and never going to the loo. Perhaps the UK public was hearing of how the Queen viciously foiled Princess Margaret's plans to start a lingerie empire by blackmailing her pop star lover.
What if the English papers were reporting on Margaret's carefully orchestrated snipes that had caused a hair pulling incident between Princesses Michael & Anne, wrestling on some big cream lush carpet in Buckingham Palace, knocking over a few palm plants.
It's a sobering image, but with hindsight I think Monty Python would have done a more accurate rendition of it.
I thought it would have been wonderful to have all that drama for real.
Americans were so relieved that someone who wasn't really waxwork ugly had joined the English Royal Family. I remember all the jokes everyone made about not having to wall the thing up, thanks to Di. Camilla and Charles? Offspring? You'd have had to chain the thing up and feed it through a hole in the wall in the back of some remote Scottish castle, like they did in the good oleĀ days. It seemed like Di had given an heir and a spare and then they didn't want her anymore.'
I worry a bit about what William is like. I have only seen footage of him jumping up and down in South America and waving his hands about in class workshop. I worry that he went to Eton. I know one or two people who went to Eton. One is a lovely guy, but completely shaken by the whole experience. The other is a totally airy fairy happy, lights on but attic for rent kind of fools paradise glazed planet mars hippie guy, sheltered by money and his own dim brain that is constantly playing 'seasons in the sun' or something. He runs 2-day workshops on Shakespeare that you would need to hawk something to afford.
Harrow was the place for bright sparks. Gordonstoun is meant to be the place for people who prefer 'more physical pursuits'...(because they are rumoured to be a bit thick, but still have got muchos quiddoes).
I think Charles went to Gordonstoun.
The other good thing about Diana was the look. You could stick a painting of her in the National Portrait gallery next to Henry the 8th or Elizabeth the 1st and she would fit in. You would think 'plausible.'
Henry the 8th arched, hoarded, drank, womanized and was like the Oliver Reed of his time. Elizabeth the 1st was a wild ginger punk with a corsetry fetish and all kinds of magicians and groupies. Di was an equally glamorous type. They were all rock stars.
I bet in about 200 years... or as soon as it seems polite enough to do so, they will ditch all of the Windsor's paintings in a back room at the National Portrait Gallery. I mean, what can you say about them?
"Here are some 20th Century ugly bugs"
Queen Elizabeth 2: High-pitched squeal, husband constantly chomped olives, pastel handbags, once rung a pheasants neck.
Prince Charles: Ears, cheated on beautiful wife for pick'n'mix teeth woman, Old man of Loch Nagar.
No spaniels named after them, no wild campaigns to un-explored lands or finance for new technology like potatoes. Just nothing! Bliddy caretaker sovereigns. Not a foppish outfit between them! Useless!
Even Edward and Mrs. Simpson were cool. I mean he looked a bit like James Mason, was only photographed in smoking jackets, then ditched out on the whole circus for his girlfriend. That is Royal behaviour. I don't know what his brother must have looked like but he must have been a real cyclops, because look what happened to the next 60 years. Royal pugs! They look like an East End Gang, and their plots are as shady as any Scorscese flick with Rosemary's baby thrown in.
I suspect Edward just lazily auditioned people who could make a piggy face and say 'good luck' in a very clipped BBC way, so he could bugger off to Paris sooner. That might explain where the new Royal Family came from.
They could at least try to look like the puffed up pigeon Victoria managed. What do they think we are paying them for?
I don't know if their blood isn't more of a twinge green and acidic than blue, with a Geiger-esque second set of teeth. They do scare me, The Windsor's. This is a dark time and they are no fun.
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