After last night's debacle with Arthur and the malevolent pastry, the issuance of a writ against Eddie, the fisticuffs between Bertie and Louise and the arrival of Miss Chapman I have had a most pleasant day. Nobody has detonated high explosives, no more murder victims have arrived, there has been no more chicken wrestling and all is well with the world.
It is at a time like this that I like to reflect upon the nature of the world. The world which all of you inhabit, that of the plebians, is filled with ill kempt, uncouth, obnoxious scallywags, and you're poor. We on the other hand are rich, that's it really.
Whilst travelling through the centre of my realm (why isn't it called a 'Queendom'?), the area referred to as the Black Country, I am forced to draw the curtains in the carriage of the royal train in order that my sensibilities not be offended by the sight of the hovels in which you live, could you not try just a little harder?. A few statues, some landscape gardening, a flag tower here and there would be nice. Is it really so difficult?.
I have to go now as the spat between Bertie and Louise has taken an unexpected turn. Louise has thrown down her gauntlet and a duel is to be fought on the terrace. As the challenged Bertie has the right to choose weapons, he has chosen rapiers, a serious error of judgement I fear, he will end up looking like a colander. Stupid boy.
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