A wry view of life for the world-weary

Monarch Of The Week


Whether it will turn out to be an annus horribilis or not is too early to tell but for her Maj it has been a pretty bloody few days. No sooner had the nation recovered from the shock of seeing her engaged in what might euphemistically be called high-spirited japes in the 1930s – we now know where her grandson gets his predilection for dressing up in Nazi uniforms from – than we learn that she was involved in a road rage incident.

Taking an innocent stroll through Windsor Great Park last Sunday Toby Core and Scarlett Vincent were shocked to see a Jaguar X-type estate coming their way and then swerving on to the grass to avoid them. The driver of course was her Maj – I cannot confirm reports that in order to restore political balance she greeted her subjects with a Churchillian salute – in a hurry to get to church on time. In days of yore, of course, a minor shock was the least the great unwashed would experience if they got in the way of their monarch.

It may be that her Maj is lonely following the announcement that she will not be keeping any more corgis once the remaining two shuffle off this mortal coil. Apparently at her advanced age she is frightened of tripping over them or, more likely, of her daughter running over any more. Still she could sign up for an innovative scheme launched by Notting Hill Housing and backed by David Cameron and Boris Johnson, the kiss of death if there ever was one, to give lonely old codgers a hen to look after. Keeping a hen, the do-gooders claim, helps tackle social isolation, reduce depression and improve wellbeing. I suspect in these days of austerity cost-cutting is behind this initiative – care homes report a reduction in anti-psychotic medication when hens are in use and, of course, a fresh egg a day will reduce the catering bills.

It is a strange world we live in.

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