Poor Queenie. My beloved ruler of the waves has decided to miss the State Opening of Parliament for the first time since 1963, when she was pregnant with one of her evil children or other. This time word is that Her Maj is experiencing ‘episodic mobility problems’. Which is a posh way of saying ‘falling over’. Well she is 96, she’s allowed to fall over. It’s just not very cool to do it live on tv whilst walking behind Black Rod. Which is NOT a racist term, nor a porn star, but a job title. All old people fall over. When I go to visit my dad in his care home there’s always heaps of them all over the floor, just dropped off their zimmers and awaiting ‘episodic staff member support for re-erection to the vertical’.

There’s nothing funny about it. It’s dangerous for old people to fall because their bones are brittle and any break would be their last. So why not get the Queen to, kind of, retire? Abdicate. She’s put in the hours, done the hard graft, let her rest for her remaining days. Bonnie Prince Charlie is up to the job. Ok, his face wouldn’t be something you’d really want to lick on postage stamps, or in any situation really, but he can’t help the way he looks. He means well and has grown into a decent fellow, albeit in a tree-huggerish way. And as he’s already about a decade past retirement age, he’s just perfectly ripe to be the next very old monarch. The Queen is retiring! Long live the King!! Until he starts falling over.

Meanwhile, back in Starmerville, the unthinkable has happened. Fed up with demanding the resignations of Boris, Rishi Sunak, Rees-Mogg, Liz Truss and anyone else who utters a sound, he’s now threatening his own!!! Following beer-and-curry-gate, up in Durham during the lockdowns, Sir Kier has announced that should he receive a statutory fine from the police HE MUST GO!! The expression ‘hoist by his own petard’ springs to mind, even though no-one has a clue what it means.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx