If you live outside the UK you should count yourself lucky. Yes, we have running water and a food mountain that should be shipped to poorer countries on a regular basis, but on the whole it’s us who are saddled with The Royal Family!
I wouldn’t mind if they’d been voted in, but they weren’t, they just stopped off during a European tour from Germany and never went home. And let’s not forget, marrying your first cousin was seen as a normal practice in Victoria’s day, so it’s no wonder they all look alike.
The misapprehension that most fall under is everyone in England is a Royalist, but I can safely say this is not the case. The problems arise when one or a clutch of them decide to have a day out, take a holiday or worse still – get married.
The entire British media reports nothing else for weeks, and it’s the cap-doffing residence of Blighty who suffer the most. The news breaks and the initial report lasts for no more than 90 seconds, but being British we know what’s coming next and it’s enough to push the sane towards suicide.
The most recent Royal story to blanket the papers and the airwaves was Prince Philip’s admittance to hospital with a blocked artery. You should’ve heard the old waffle we had to listen to. Every syllable of the report was regurgitated over and over again for a five day period, by a bunch of salivating Royal correspondents all hoping for an MBE.
I mean, how long can you pad out a visit to hospital for with the scantest of information? If it was your Gran or Nora Splinge from the Oil Slick Housing Estate no-one would give a toss.
The BBC studios were plunged into a panic. “What happens if he snuffs it?” “Have we got any black ties in the building?” Oh yes, pick the wrong colour neckwear when a Royal dies and you’ll get a bollocking from head office. Just ask the BBC newsreader Peter Sissons. He had the audacity to wear a burgundy tie when the Queen Mother shuffled off and was berated for his choice.
If you’re a decent human being, no one wants to see anyone die, but let’s face it Phil is 90. And to-date he’s eaten the best food and drunk the finest wines in the world, as well as having access to the best medical care.
He had chest pains and was immediately put in a helicopter and flown to an NHS hospital where they specialize in cardiothoracic surgery. Did he eat the hospital food, was he on a mixed ward – I doubt it. How would your Gran fare in the same situation? She’d be dead mate.
Still, some good did come from this Royal photo opportunity; less pheasants were blasted to death this year in the boxing shoot. The hospital wouldn’t discharge him. Give a 90 year old a 12 bore? I wouldn’t give him a driving license!
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