On His Majesty's Service
Exactly how much shite can one man buy on Ebay? A newsletter to find out.
Look, you don’t always get what you want, but sometimes you do get what you need, which we must assume in my husband Lee’s case last week means being mistaken by a few hundred thousand people for the future King of England.
Let me explain.
It begins somewhere back in the mists of time, with an unlikely – we’ll call it a business alliance, but actually it’s more like a friendship - between Lee and a character we will call Bad James. Bad, because despite being an absolutely lovely chap, Bad James definitely has the propensity to lead a man astray if that man were a. fond of a drink and b. having that drink on someone else’s expenses account in the name of doing some business together.
Lee and Bad James do actually do quite a bit of work together. However, it’s clear to any onlooker that most of this “business” is purely as a front to enjoy jollies like flying some clients to the races in a helicopter, enjoying an all expenses paid trip to a prosecco factory IN ITALY or spending five whole days driving to Monaco and back, all of which have actually happened in recent years while I labour away writing shite on the internet and washing everyone’s pants.
Bad James is nothing if not generous, and to this end I have also been the very willing recipient of some of this hospitality over the years. A while back we were invited along to watch Ed Sheeran at Wembley with him. Not from the perfectly passable expensive seats, but from a private box, with full hospitality and an overnight stay in some swanky London hotel to boot. Yes please.
Lee had to disappear straight off into some meeting when we arrived at the hotel before the gig, leaving me to head on up to the room alone. Only it wasn’t a room. It was a sky high penthouse suite on the billionth floor with wall to wall glass over three whole sides of the building giving us the most incredible panoramic views of the London skyline I’d ever seen. I could JOG from one end of it to the other. (I know this because I did it. Twice.) The bathroom alone was about the size of my whole house. Minutes after settling myself in, a knock on the door brought a butler delivering a basket of fruit and bottle of champagne, which left me feeling a little bit like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman wondering if I should give him my chewing gum as a tip. I didn’t do this, settling instead for flashing my tits out of the window at the vastness of the London sky and anyone happening to be looking fifteen floors up from the Lancaster Gate of Hyde Park. Because if you can, you should.
Anyway, I’m telling you all this as background so you understand that if Bad James is looking after you he is Not Fucking About. It’s going to be good.
So let’s fast forward to last week. The entire country is in mourning following the death of Her Majesty The Queen. London is full of police. Dignitaries. The remaining Royal Family are turning up all over the place, inspecting tributes, greeting the assembled public, standing vigil in churches, processing behind various combinations of hearse and coffin.
When they’re not doing this walking about, they’re in cars. Big, shiny black cars. Really, really expensive shiny black cars. Ones that make it very obvious that they are On Important Business.
Cars a bit like the FOUR HUNDRED THOUSAND POUND Rolls Royce Phantom which collected Lee following his “business meeting” with Bad James and client while all this was happening, furnished with the extremely royal-sounding numberplate ‘3 HRH’, which proceeded to take them on a jolly joyride all around the streets of central London.
People were pointing and staring. Taking photographs. Perhaps asking themselves why they had never noticed quite how much the new King Charles III resembled famous celebrity chef John Torode, or why he appeared to be laughing in giddy delight at his good fortune instead of mourning his late Royal Mother.
I don’t know precisely how or why this came to pass, only that there are no depths Lee won’t stoop to in his quest to become the favourite parent. As I was readying myself to head down the road to collect our son from the village school, Lee rang to tell me that ‘his driver’ had brought him all the way home from London (let’s call it a round hundred miles) and could I make sure our son was somewhere near the school gates in order to witness his chauffeur-driven exit from this ridiculously ostentatious car worth probably more than our actual house.
There was much excitement (from the children), a few raised eyebrows (from fellow parents, who know that as much as Lee enjoys buying shite second-hand cars this represented a significant departure from the norm perhaps meaning we had actually won the lottery and/or had someone killed for cash) and a few worried looks from people parked nearby probably wondering if something else terrible had happened to the line of succession, and they might now have to curtsey to Lee.
I’m sure there’s probably some archaic law that means impersonating the monarch is an offence punishable by swans with guns or something, but I think he had fun while it lasted. And, as we’re both fond of saying, anything in the name of a good story.
Well this is fun
Good week all? For reasons unexplainable to me I keep on getting new subscribers to this newsletter so if that’s you - hello! I am so glad you have joined me. Here’s where I share some things that bring me joy, make me laugh and might be worth a 5 minute distraction from the abject misery that is life in Britain today. Please settle down, and enjoy:
Cunk on Earth, on the BBC, which is the most brilliant, brilliant piece of television writing since the history of forever. It makes me laugh out loud, and because I am a dour-hearted cold emotionless husk of a human, this is very high praise indeed.
This very much not suitable for work trailer for Ricky Gervais’ series Afterlife.
I had a child’s birthday party to deal with this week. If you too need to source a cake, consider this one, source of all my subsequent nightmares…
Have you been watching Bad Sisters on Apple TV? Written by Sharon Horgan who is ace, if you start now you’ll be able to binge at least 7 episodes and not have to painfully wait week by week for each like I had to.
Stevie Martin is a comedy sketch genius. I’ve shared her stuff before, but came across this one the other day about sending an email which struck a chord.
New series of Ghosts started this week. We watch it with the kids. It's great. (See also Derry Girls, which I’m watching with my now 13year old who is delighted that most episodes contain at least five instances of shouted “motherfucker”).
I used to enjoy watching the Kardashians, so I found The Yorkshire Kardashians very pleasing too.
Now, this isn’t ‘funny’ per se, but following the announcement that Rihanna is doing the superbowl, this video of Tom Holland lip synching to Umbrella is a thing of such huge joy. You must watch it and be amazed.
I’m off to go for a run later (have been shirking and now consequently am a big sack of shit at running), but I HAVE been doing a bit more outdoor swimming which has been great, if not quite as chilly as the first time I went. At the opposite end of the Having Fun spectrum, I’d love to hear your recommendations for places to visit with my girlfriends for a riotous night out, as I’m feeling like some rowdy drinking and dancing is long overdue - any suggestions please?!
Thanks for subscribing, reading and sharing this newsletter with your friends - I appreciate the love. You can reply just like a normal email too, and I really love hearing what you think, the things you’ve found that are funny and/or worth sharing too. Until next time comrades!
Lindsay x
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About me
My brother told me that all the blurb I usually put here is too long and boring, so for brevity, I’m Lindsay Butcher and I write words down for a living. I’ll write for you too if you like.
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Brilliant as ever. A stark contrast to my own life… I spent the royal week of mourning trying to design and install a compost loo which doesn’t smell… oh, the glamour.
A big thank you from Austria (no kangaroos here) for your brilliant oeuvres - I love them and your sarcasm and humour ❤️🍀🥂💐