Saying you love the Queen, can be like saying you didn’t breastfeed your kids, or you like it when it is raining, that you don’t like animals very much really and that you don’t always flush the loo after having a wee. It’s controversial.
But I DON’T CARE. I LOVE THE QUEEN. Love her. Can’t get enough of her. Want her to be my Gran and have a roast dinner with her on Sundays.
I fully imagine the Queen as being The Queen on Twitter (if you are on Twitter, follow her @Queen_UK). It is sort of like how I won’t admit on Christmas Eve that Father Christmas definately does not exist – even though I am 31 and have children of my own and actually AM Father Christmas myself in fact. After my truth serum (wine) you will not get me to admit to anyone that I do not believe that The Queen on twitter is not in fact the actual Queen doing a clever *look into my eyes, not around my eyes in my eyes aaaaand you are back in the room!”. She has double backed on herself, tripple forwarded, spun round and side stepped to trick us make us think it ISN’T her. When it really is….She drinks gin at breakfast and gets texts from David Cameron moaning that Nick Clegg won’t let him play with the lego. It’s all true.
I love ALL the Royals. Especially the rude ones who offend everyone at every opportunity, who ask aborigines if they still throw spears at each other and other such beauties (he did actually say this, I am not expressing a personal opinion before people get shouty). I loved the Royal Wedding and hosted a party, taking inspiration from The Queen to drink booze at 11am with my friends to “toast” the couple….as the couple in question left their houses and were not even married yet but that is by the by. Ok?
I love bunting. I love going to parties where you have to dress in themed outfits of Red, White and Blue (these are the themed parties for those pre-middle-aged but post-teenage. They are in between the traffic light parties and swinging parties). I love The Queens boufy hair and the big fat bling she wears on top of it, how she has a stick with a precious ball on it, and how she has a NORMAL face on a STAMP. One does not have a face lift. One has jowls and wears them with pride and puts it on a STAMP.
However, having said all this and bigging up the Queen and everything – I don’t wish to dress like her.
My mum handed me a bunch of “”womans” magazines last week. She calls them “Bath reading”.
“The BEST thing about them Hannah, is it doesn’t matter if you drop them in the bath! You can just throw them away!”
Unlike a kindle. Or books from a friend of mine who, very kindly started lending me some of his read books (as we are the only ones who like scary books written by Mo Hayder and Chris Mooney, where people get hacked up by evil midgets. I digress…) Anyway, my friend lent me one of his books and I ran a bubble bath, settled in and accidently dropped the book in the bath. I blow dried it dry with the hair dryer, left it over night on the radiator and gave it back to him, read and appreciate and a bit crispy and hard and about 3 sizes bigger from where their paper pages had turned to cardboard… I’m not allowed to borrow his stuff anymore. Turns out he resells his read books on Amazon. Well…not that one he didn’t. Now if he does give me stuff to read, he sees me wince and look nervous and like my mum, he looks me in the eye, and says clearly and seriously;
“You can read this in the bath, Hannah. I am not reselling it”.
And then I can breathe again.
So, I am in the bath and reading one of the Woman’s magazine my mum has given to me, already soggy from where I splashed it with water whilst getting the bath in my big hippo way, and there is a feature on the Queen.
Dress like a Queen maybe! Big platform heels, fake eyelashes and lip liner. But like the Queen?
So I dropped it in the bath.