Call me perverse but I love it where the old world meets the new and causes ructions. I like it when value systems clash and no-one really knows what to do about it. Because its like rugby; these are the ‘breakdowns’ and its where it all gets interesting.

Princess Dutchess Middleton Catherine of Cambridgia is one such breakdown. No, she’s not having one, not yet anyway, she is one. Because she’s a Queen in waiting and therefore is dutybound and honour-bound to act in a particular way. A way set down when Boudica was around, when Mary Queen of Scots was shedding blood, when Victoria was a mere babe. And these rules state that unlike those three who actually took the throne, a queen who is ‘merely’ the wife of a king is essentially an heir-production mechanism. She’s a womb with a view. But no-one cares about her views, only in viewing her. So she must look fab all the time. That’s her job. Look good and bear fruit.

And this is just soooooo contrary to popular feminist zeitgeist. Its diametrically opposed to any form of equality. The whole royal thing, if you think about it, is a complete anachronism, a throw-back to feudal times, which is why Americans love coming over to see the whole regalia. Cos they don’t got one where they live. They could have shared ours but instead decided to have a tea party and go it alone. So fuck ’em.

All people ever say about Kate is how lovely she looks, how it took her 93 minutes in the gym followed by 6 months of anorexia to get ‘back to her pre-birth weight’ and what fabulous clothes she wears. Which may be flattering in a bland and superficial kind of way, but is that something to aspire to? When we’re talking the rest of the time about more women in the boardrooms, certainly more in parliament? All she has to do is look pretty and have babies. She needs to get a proper job. Like a lap-dancer.

Another breakdown would appear to be right outside 10 Downing Street. In the little guardroom that one passes through en route to visit the Camerons. Yes, I’ve been there, hasn’t everyone?? And you go through a Heathrowesque room, answer a few questions, show id, get scanned, have a full-body search with rubber gloves, give a DNA sample, sing the national anthem in Yiddish, pledge allegiance to Guy Fawkes and call the guards ‘fucking plebs’, then they let you pass.

But those guards; what a job. Awful. Standing around all day in the cold looking like policemen with nothing to do between visits or terrorist attempts. Which is why they have time to pretend some Tory mp called them plebs, to fabricate the evidence, make up a lovely story and end up in jail. Cos what else is there to do all day? And night??

The answer being: look at porn. Of course, its so terribly obvious. You can do it on your smartphone, its easy, even if you’re a particualry unsmart policeman.

“‘ere Terry, got a great picture ‘ere of some tart gettin’ shagged up the gazebo by three horses; I’ll bluetooth it over to ya”

They were accused of sending ‘extreme pornography’. Which I though was soft core porn viewed whist hanging upside down on the top of a mountain. But I was wrong. Its very naughty porn. And looking at it during working hours is not quite cricket. And right where the Cameron children are less than 200 yards away through only 7 brick walls!!!!

Its all bollocks. Just don’t film them and send it to your mates. Not during office hours.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx