The Queen’s Consent – “One Is Very Amused, One Must Say!”

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How I would have loved to be a fly on the wall in the royal room when Queen Lily met prime minister BoJo. Well not really, of course. For one, I would have a brain the size of – well – a fly’s brain, I suppose. And two, I would have been smacked by a royal repellent – and I’m not referring to Prince Philip.

But come on, aren’t you interested in hearing what they said to each other? Well, you don’t want to read about my childhood, do you?

So here goes. Here’s what the royal bluebottle fly got a glimpse of.

 

footman:   Your majesty?

QE2:   Yes, that is what One is.

footman:   The prime minister Boris Johnson desires an audience with Your Majesty.

QE2:   Well do let him in, young man.

Enter BJ,

BJ:   Your Majesty.

QE2:   Ah yes, you’re that comedian from the television, aren’t you?

BJ:   If you say so, Your Majesty. I’m here for a prorogation.

QE2:   Yes, it’s that time of year isn’t it. One always enjoys summer prorogations – it’s the weather and all that is it not?

BJ:   If you permit me saying, Your Majesty, I don’t want to have to dissolve parliament so I just want to suspend it for a few days.

QE2:   One says, Mister Johnson, isn’t that going a bit far? You know what One means – trying to dissolve a peppermint – it just won’t work.

BJ:   No Your Majesty, PARLIAMENT.

QE2:   What for?

BJ:   To get Brexit over with, Your Majesty. I don’t want Parliament before Brexit is finished.

QE2:   Yes Boris, damn nuisance especially before breakfast. Anyway, it’s far too late for breakfast, young man. Punch, Boris, that’s what One needs…Punch.

BJ:   Do you not mean lunch, Your Majesty?

QE2:   What? One is not senile, is One. Although One does have trouble in counting all the corgis, One does know the difference between lunch and punch. And punch it is, my friend.

BJ:   And Parliament?

QE2:   To be honest, Boris, One had to look up the definition of Parliament. It’s such a long time since One has been to school. And as far as this House is concerned, you have our consent to blow the other House up and plant trees instead.

BJ:   Trees, Your Majesty?

QE2:   Yes, we’ve bought a few thousand trees and don’t know what to do with them. We ordered grass to patch up the garden at the palace. Dreadfully rude that American, botching up One’s lawn like that with his moped. But that online shop was so accommodating and has so much to offer.

BJ:   May I be so bold as to ask which shop Your Majesty is referring to?

QE2:   Amazon, Boris…Amazon. They’re located in Brazil if One is not mistaken.

BJ:   Your Majesty…I am deeply honoured.

QE2:   Par de quar, my friend…La plume de ma tante!

 

Exit BJ.

 

And there you have it. Quicker than I could fly out of the room, Boris Johnson escaped to London before the Queen realised that the Queen had just given her kingdom away to a complete stranger. Give or take an exaggeration or two, not only was the Brexit problem solved, but global warming took a turn for the better.

Now, all that remains to be done, is for Mrs Smith from Sunderland to get out that Austin Allegro she has been secretly hiding in the garden shed since 1973 and paint the town red – British Red and not EU Blue.