Just because it is humorous, I think the following deserves a mention for eternity, or until this blog is dead, whichever comes first.
NOON. Somewhere on the upper decks of Buckingham Palace.
[knock knock] “Your Majesty? Are you in there?” [knock knock]
“Who’s there?”
“Your serf.”
“Your serf who?”
“Your serf N’dour.”
“You must be seven seconds away then.”
“Actually, I’m right here, Your Majesty. May I come in?”
“Of course not. I’m on the throne.”
“There’s a group of Indian gentlemen at the gates.”
“So what else is new? They’ve been there since the end of our empire.”
“They have a letter for you, ma’am.”
“Tell them to take it to Sonia Gandhi.”
“They’re not that kind of Indian, ma’am.”
“Neither is she.”
“They’re Malaysians.”
“Malaysians? Lovely people. Quite charming. They have kings and queens too. Highly civilised, I call it. Last time I was there was to open our Commonwealth Games in ’98. There was a spot of rioting going on, as I recall, but they took great pains to spare Philip and I the tear gas.”
“Beg pardon, ma’am, but that should be Philip and me.”
“How dare you. Go find your own husband, you horrid little man.”
“Got one. Would you like me to read you the contents of their letter?”
“Of course not. Just give me the gist of it.”
“They love you and want four trillion pounds.”
“Of what?”
“Sterling.”
“Good heavens. What for?”
“Back wages, I think.”
“Goodness gracious, how long were they working for us? I haven’t got four trillion pounds. Do I?”
“No, ma’am. Unless you’d like to sell Scotland to the Irish.”
“They don’t have four trillion pounds either. Can we sell Europe?”
“No longer, I’m afraid.”
“Hong Kong, then.”
“Ten years too late, ma’am.”
“Blast. Well, you’ll just have to tell these Malaysian Indian gentlemen to go away, we haven’t got the money.”
“They say it’s just a point of principle, they don’t really expect to get four trillion pounds.”
“So what’s all this about then?”
“They want the Crown to acknowledge they’re worth four trillion pounds, and deserve four trillion pounds, even if they’ll not get tuppence.”
“Oh come now, we can give them that much. Maybe even a whole shilling and a cup of tea. They were our loyal servants, after all. See to it, won’t you.”
“Very good, ma’am.”
“I know I am. But tell me, who’s in charge of these people now?”
“At the moment, Scotland Yard, ma’am.”
“I meant back where they came from.”
“Ah. There seems to be some confusion over that. According to their tourist office over on Trafalgar Square…”
“Nelson! My favourite franchise. I’ve always wondered if Hardy actually kissed him.”
“…they are represented by a political party in a democratically elected government under a constitutional monarchy.”
“Like ours?”
“Not in the least. They have nine monarchs.”
“Well, so much the better for them.”
“But these gentlemen claim they have been left out and ignored for 50 years.”
“My husband’s been for 60 and you don’t hear him complaining.”
“But he’s not one of your subjects.”
“Oh yes he is.”
“I stand corrected, ma’am…”
“Just how I like it.”
“…but the gentlemen at the gate aren’t your subjects either.”
“Their country’s part of the Commonwealth, isn’t it?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And I’m the head of the Commonwealth, aren’t I?”
“Where are you going with this?”
“Therefore, they are my subjects.”
“It doesn’t quite work like that, ma’am. Not any more.”
“Then what’s the point of being queen?”
“Frankly, ma’am, a lot of us are wondering ourselves.”
“I am still queen, aren’t I?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And head of the Commonwealth?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And these people need my help?”
“That’s what they say, ma’am.”
“And four trillion pounds.”
“Quite.”
“Tell them we thank them for their loyalty, now naff off.”
“Very well, ma’am.”
“I’d send them to Charles, but he’d only tell them to try organic gardening.” [Off to London to see the queen. Rehman Rashid. New Straits Times. November 30 2007]
