‘Flash photography from the start,’ warns the news anchor. Cut to Wills and Kate in a garish photo opportunity: a UNICEF centre in Copenhagen.
There was once a time I’d get home from the pub with a lady in tow or perhaps a large kebab. These days, it’s oatcakes and the news.
Our hopelessly cheesy royals are filmed together with their Danish counterparts: Frederik and Mary; Crown Prince and Aussie Chick. I turn off.
But not before that horrible head of Elizabethan teeth flaps its arms in a way to mimic the actions of the Token Dark Devil to ineptly place a thing in a box.
I’m full of hate, I know, but with good reason. I worked in this very building between 9-11 and ‘our’ invasion of Afghanistan. I washed the dishes of the office staff that controlled the logistics of what aid went into what boxes and where those boxes were sent. I’m not saying they weren’t doing a commendable job the likes of us won’t ever aspire to, let alone perform, but I was privy to the insane and useless waste that went on in their own canteen. Hot meals for scores of their own immediate needy ditched in landfill whilst our armies dropped bombs and biscuits on foreign children.
It boils my blood to see these European Royals pander uselessly to their subjects via our sycophantic press. Kate and Mary – both of them almost Proles like us – and yet I can’t help but be reminded of the British born first lady of Syria and what horrors she’s let slip by in her time.
I so want to damn white people and their stupid faith to the hell they deserve but then I see how the Church of England are beginning to side with the Occupy demonstration down at St. Pauls and no word of a lie – it’s turned this cynic’s heart the tiniest bit mushy.
But, it would appear, there is another thing; contrary to what the oil workers I accosted some weeks ago during an otherwise delightful evening in an alternative Edinburgh bar stressed, fracking does cause problems – notably low-magnitude earthquakes.
There aren’t any reference links; if you care it’s all here on the internet – two levels down beneath the celebrities and the shopping and the Angry Birds.
Anyway, I went to a radio awards ceremony of sorts for entrepreneurship or whatever the fuck tonight. ‘Free drinks’ apparently means ‘Three Pounds Forty’ and I have yet to meet a woman in this Godforsaken town who doesn’t have a boyfriend. However, I did meet some nice people and we might have won iTunes vouchers.
There was once a time I’d get home from the pub and crash dead, fully clothed, dead to memory.
These days I have you to talk to.