Dear God!. How many imbeciles should it be possible to assemble on one small island?. I refer of course to the Isle of Wight. This evening whilst perambulating the promenade of East Cowes myself and dear Albert were accosted by an assortment of urchins, one of whom enquired of me " 'ere, are you the queen?", to which my reply was "Yes, you repugnant child", at which he and his compatriots fell about laughing. It was at this point that I instructed Mr.Brown (always in attendance) to shoot him in the testicles.
I fear that reports of this incident, if I can not manage to keep it quiet by bestowing a considerable amount of money upon the urchin's family, will result in disquiet among the local townspeople. Therefore should it become necessary to preclude the possibility of any untoward actions on behalf of the townspeople I propose to hold a party for them. This occasion would be called the 'Peasants' Festival', I think that it would be a great success.
It could be held on the beach here at Osborne, thus keeping the hoi polloi a sufficiently great distance from the house and also increasing the possibility of death by misadventure, in the form of drowning. Please do not think me harsh or uncaring, it is simply that one must do all that one can to preserve the line of succession by eliminating the competition, who knows how many claimants our idiot son Bertie might have sired?.
I have to go now as Beatrice is stamping on a gerbil. Stupid girl.
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