Ett titthål in i mitt liv. Ett titthål in i min själ. Ett ventilationshål att släppa ut lite ånga ur. Ett hål att kika lite ut ifrån. Hål i huvudet.
onsdag 4 mars 2009
Prinsessan Lilian bloggar 17
Hells bells! Finally! Good job, Vicky, getting engaged to that bloke Damien or whatever his name is. I mean we, the royal lot, shouldn’t be living in sin for ages without getting married. That’s for peasants. Imagine having to hide your love for such a long time. It must be dreadfully boring.
Anyway, I wish you could’ve seen Gusty’s face when being told that Vicky had made her choice.
- Fuck a duck! I had everything planned! he yelled.
Apparently he had talked with some German duke about the possibilities of him asking for Vicky’s hand. Graf Schwänzchen von Arschloch-Sauerkrautsknödel his name was. He was rather reluctant though. Wanted money and stuff in between, but negotiations were running rather smoothly. Only days before the deal would be sealed, Vicky tells her parents that she’ll marry a man of the people. You know, seeing a grown-up people crying is good fun.
The other day Victoria and Denmark came to see me at Sophiahemmet. I had arranged with newspapers on the floor in case he hadn’t been house-trained. He had. When Vicky went to powder her nose I gave Denzel a good stare and said:
"Listen you lucky bastard! If you think you’ve eaten all caviar you can eat, there’s always more to be eaten. If you think you can’t drink more Champagne – think again and then drink again. If you think your credit cards will have some kind of limit, you’re as stupid as you look. If you think ordinary people will see through this charade and ask for a republic, then you haven’t understood how stupid the man in the street is. I mean, look at me! I’m the Princess Lilian for crying out loud. How’s that for a weird joke? Came from nowhere – got everything. Just like you! The tax-payers will look after you, don’t you worry. This silly game will go on for another generation or more. I’d drink for that if I had something to drink."
At that stage it turned out that the good boy Diesel had a flask in his pocket (Yes, it was a flask. I thought for a moment that Vicky had struck gold!) and he gave me a swig. He had one himself and we smiled at each other.