Buckingham Palace, Queen's Quarters; London, England. Christmas Day, 2012. 10am.
Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, 86 years young, is in her walk-in closet – roughly the
size of a small banquet hall – trying to remember which item of clothing she’s
looking for. Husband Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh, is in the attaching Master Bedroom,
awake behind his black eye-pads, but pretending to be asleep.
Queen/Liz: Philleep, are you up yet? I need some help with my
Christmas speech. I don't think it had enough Va Va Voom last year.
PP stirs, levers his 91.5-year-old body out of the
King-size bed, and appears at the closet door.
Philip/Phil: Va Va what?! I've never heard of her. Have we
had him over for drinks? Do you mean Zsa Zsa Gabor?
Liz: No dear, it's a coin of phrase based on a slogan from one of
those car ad thingys; James Bond was telling me about it when we filmed our
Olympic Opening Ceremony bit earlier in the year. Oh never mind. What about the
Phil: Have you seen my teeth? I
bet one of those wretched corgis has had them again. Speech? Oh right, the
speech. Can't we get Chuck (their pet name for son Prince Charles) to do it,
like we do most years? Or what about Richard Curtis (the Kiwi-born English screenwriter and actor/director/music producer)? He’d be good.
Liz: No Philleep, it's about time I wrote this thing myself.
Phil: What's for breakfast? Do we
have some of that wild boar bacon in?
Liz: Are you listening to me Philleep?
Phil: That bloody corgi's crapped in
my shoe again! Wait 'til I get my hands on the little runt. Listening? Who's Phillip?
Oh that's me! Right. I think we're making progress.
Liz: God dammit, Philleep!
Will you pay attention!
Phil: What? Oh, yes dear – sorry
dear. How about that Darcy fellow from the King's Speech? Colin somebody.
Farrell is it? I'm sure he could help us out. His was quite the journey...
To read the rest of this column, check out BC Johnny's upcoming book: Chilled Almonds.