Open Season

Ho, ho ho, I shouldn’t laugh, but sometimes I just can’t resist it when the rickety old House of Windsor displays itself in all its feudal glory. Haven’t the last few weeks have been wonderful for us republican vultures everywhere? After ‘What the Butler Sold’ we got ‘What Everyone Else Flogged off Down the Market’ - a bright farce starring Fencey Fawcett, a couple of blokes from down the pub and He who Talks to Plants. Now we’ve got the latest in that long line of feudal farces, ‘Whoops What a Whitewash’, by Sir Peat-Bog, the personal secretary (servant) of the plant-talker which naturally finds no evidence of wrong doing by his boss! Welcome to the thirteenth century? No, not quite; Fencey only had to resign.

The incompetence and arrogance of Camilla’s lover is mind-boggling. Here is a grown man who has to have toothpaste squeezed onto his brush for him and gets a flunkey to hold the specimen bottle for him when he has to give a urine sample. I bet most of his flunkies are pleased that the bottle is all they were expected to hold. Once upon a time the heir to the throne would have had help with performing almost all his bodily functions.

Of course once the floodgates open they stay open and the next little nasty waiting to crawl out of the cupboard is ‘video diary of a princess’. Yes, the saintly Diana apparently made tapes to help her learn public speaking. On them she gave her opinion of her husband’s bedroom performance compared to Major James ‘Shagger’ Hewitt, Will Carling (allegedly) and Dr Spock. And guess what the tabloids will pay and pay and pay to get the chance to run that little story.

So, where does that leave the man who was born to give republicans a good name? Quite clearly not riding on the crest of a wave of popularity nor resisting pressure to persuade his mum to quit while the goings good. Instead Charles is looking more ridiculous than he has looked since he confessed to adultery live on television or was last caught trying to chat up a daffodil. Yes, he’s up the creek and now that Fencey’s gone there’s no one left to paddle for him. Well, at least I hope so.