“Gran, gran . . . I do so want to be a hero. Surely you can fix it I stay on in the RAF long as poss, flying my search and rescue helicopter.
“A full-time royal isn’t my scene. It’s not the job I was cut out for. The louche life hanging about with the chaps in Mayfair’s watering holes never was my style.”
C’mon Queenie. You’ve got the pull. Lighten up and let your grandson go for glory. I mean, it’s hardly Afghanistan, is it? Worst that can happen is that the chopper belly-flops into the water.
Lord above . .
You burst into a country post office in a mask and swinging an axe, terrifying staff and you walk free from court with a now-be-a-good-boy pat on the head from Lord Bonomy.
This the Scottish legal system’s “soft touch” in Alex Salmond’s Scotland. Well done, your lordship. The axe man will be trying hard to be a good chap, honest. Is m’lud the full shilling? And what of Salmond himself, campaigning for the vote for 16-year-olds? He can’t be right in the head either.
Make you weep, the Monty Python mob’s decision to make a movie. A Liar’s Autobiography will be their first film project since The Meaning of Life in 1983.
Forget it, chaps. Your humour is embarrassingly old hat. Simply no longer rib-tickling. Today’s generation are not up for it. Even the classic stuff – the Marx Brothers, for example – has long lost its shelf life, leaving their audiences, where they can be conjured up, boot-faced.
Afterwords . .
. . . So no scoring with Andrew Lloyd Webber: “Sex doesn’t obsess me. In truth I never had a high sex drive, never had a load of affairs. An awful lot of one’s sex drive goes into music anyway.” A flat note, then.