Address from the Thrown

Without Reservations

Vivian

The trouble with involving oneself with these webzines or e-mags or dot-pubs or whatever they're called is that one gets dragged into things best avoided. It seems Mrs. P dug up this picture of HRH dressed as a sock monkey. Or vice-versa. Anyway, she sent it on to me with a note describing how hilarious she thought it was and wouldn't it make a great post for the new year.

Failing to see exactly what was funny about the longest reigning queen since Victoria got up as a children's throw toy, I said as much in a brief, curt note. Being American, Mrs. P missed my drift entirely and came back at me with a series of suggestions, each ghastlier than the last. When I tell you her most promising brainstorm was to somehow work in an advert for Prince Charles's organic veg, complete with a disclaimer that "no carbon credits were harmed in the making of this commercial" you will get some idea of how far the thing had spread.

After firing off another brief, curt note I was reminded of the small but handy retainer I was being paid quarterly, and how long it had been since I last contributed anything to the old sheet and how nice it would be if I could see my way to indulging this harmless whim. Being pretty sharp, it didn't take me more than half a whiskey and soda to figure out what she was driving at. And two minutes later, in a brief, civil note I informed her how delighted I would be to start pounding the keyboard. A passing glance at the old passbook informed me that I was in no position to refuse editors their harmless whims.

So, what can I do with this image? You may not know it, but every Christmas HRH gives a bright, stimulating address over the telly summing up the year past and looking forward to the next 12 months. I suppose I could do something with that. No, that's not quite right. I'm expected to do something with that. In the grip of yet another harmless whim, Mrs. P forwarded links to the last 40 years of bright, stimulating addresses from HRH at Yuletide. And I give you my honest word that “dry” does not begin to express it. Dipping into the most recent royal efforts was like peering across some vast and trackless Gobi Dessert where longitude and platitude intersect.

Further, in order to “get” any parody of these addresses--to fully savor the acid wit and mordant sarcasm I would lavish upon the thing--you’d have to have been born and brought up British in the shadow of the memory of Churchill and the Blitz; seen a world-girding empire slip through your fingers; watch the established church systematically disestablish itself; live through an outcome-based reenactment of the greatest triumph of the British Navy (Trafalgar, for all of you who are waiting for the mini-series) and tune in to Channel 4 just in time to catch Mahmoud Ahmadinejad lecture Great Britain on “What Would Jesus Do”. You'd have to have lived through the past half-century or so, the period when this demi-paradise, this jewel set in a silver sea somehow got shoved into a top left-hand drawer where no one remembered to polish it. In other words, to really get every drop of pathos and irony and whatnot out of anything I wrote would require a rather specialized background. And that still wouldn't explain why HRH was a sock monkey. See my dilemma?

Nevertheless, duty calls, not to mention my bank balance. What if I had HRH give a special address just to PP and its readers? Something about laying off her kids and minding your own business. A diplomatically worded communiqué to the effect that PP may think they’re beyond the reach of the royal fangs, but a small task force (say, a harrier or two and a bevy of royal marines) making a very limited strike in a quiet suburban neighborhood in the American heartland is not out of the question. If it helps--and I fear I'm going to need all the help I can get--imagine the next several paragraphs spoken in an elderly, falsetto voice with a suggestion of condescending cordiality. Got it? Right. Then here we go...

What’s that? I’m way past my allotted 600 words? Oh drat.

Comments

[Father M.]

Vivian,

Perhaps if the BBC hired the sock monkey to give the Christmas address it would at least lend visual interest?

To beat Mr Cusack to the punch, isn't it HM the Sock Monkey rather than HRH? Oh, and Mrs. P., just for you...
http://gthg.blog.is/blog/gthg/image/710894/

[V.]

Thanks, Father. Thanks a whole lot. Now Mrs. P will want me to write a piece detailing exactly how HRH would say, "Do you want fries with that?" and "Can I super-size you?"

You may have noticed that I have broken my solemn oath to withhold all comments, hewing to my well-founded belief that the unwashed, teeming masses that Americans pretend to love so much have nothing useful to say. But I must make an exception in your case. First of all, you are a priest and I must budget against the possibility of drawing you in the confessional one of these days. (Remember, I run with The Baz.) Second, Mrs. P informs me that you swank about with a Spanish coat of arms. As one American heretic rebel put it, if we do not hang together we will most assuredly hang separately.

[George Pal]

Vivian,

“small task force… limited strike… quiet suburban neighborhood… American heartland.”

I am in no position to come to the defense of PP so I chime in as prospective “acceptable collateral damage”. In your advisory capacity to HRH please inform her and her task force that the American heartland is a dangerous place and that they would do well to remember the words of Tulley Bascombe: “Remember, men. There is nothing wrong with surrendering to overwhelming powers, as long as it is done in a military manner.”

[Father M.]

By the way, today is Sir Basil's name day.

An excerpt from today's breviary reading from a sermon on Basil the Great by St. Gregory Nazianzen seems appropriate:

"I was not alone at the time in my regard for the great Basil. I knew his irreproachable conduct, and the maturity and wisdom of his conversation. I sought to persuade others, to whom he was less well known, to have the same regard for him. Many fell immediately under his spell, for they had heard of him by reputation and hearsay.

What was the outcome? Almost alone of those who had come to Athens to study he was exempted from the customary ceremonies of initiation for he was held in higher honor than his status of a first year student seemed to warrant…."

[Mrs. Peperium]

This has become a highly entertaining comment thread. Thank you gentlemen.

[NBS]

Re: The Queen in her McDonald's uniform, Mrs. NBS wants to know what creme she uses to keep her arms so youthful. It is probably some very pricey "by appointment to" item, but still, perhaps someone knows. Maybe Vivian.

[Father M.]

NBS:
I think it is the Burger King that makes the McMonarch stay so youthful.

[Mrs. Peperium]

Father M., do you know what? After you penned all of this about St. Basil, a (Greek) friend came by with the gift of a St. Basil cake for us complete with lemon zest and hidden coin. We had it for breakfast this morning. St. Basil got the first slice and he did not get the coin. Mr. P got the 2nd slice - no coin and he was doing the slicing. when all the slicing was done, it turned out, none of us got the coin, including the Rev. Sharpton (our pit bull). But we all thought, including the Rev. it is a delicious cake.

Now, I'm wondering what to do with St. Basil's piece...is it kosher to give it to the squirrels?

[Father M.]

Mrs. P.,
Beware of Greeks bearing gifts. If you had found the coin it would cause you to yell "Orpa!" and start throwing plates... Squirrels are okay but a piece of Basil cake is not for the birds.

[Mrs. Peperium]

Father M., in Detroit we have something called Greektown but it's actually Greek Street. When there's a fire on Greek Street all the waiters run out screaming Orpa and douse the flames with lemon wedges.

Mr. P and I have actually done those Greek dances where you throw plates - at a wedding. We had a blast.

As for the St. Basil cake, not being Greek we did it wrong. We supposed to slice the entire thing up. So re-caculating the cake we have determined that had we sliced it properly it was Prudence Garland our calico tabby who got the coin.

Oh, and you crack me up. Thanks.

[Mr. P]

Let's get some basic things straight.

"Orca" is a killer whale in a bad science fiction movie. Some people think it's "Oprah", but they have been misled by the cover of the Midnight Globe.

"Opa" is what Greek waiters yell when setting pieces of cheese ablaze in crowded public spots and dousing them with lemon wedges.

"Orpa" is a nonsense code word invented by the Jesuits to indicate which heretic was next on the hit list.

Mrs. P thinks you must have given in to your Spanish blood and thrown in what she calls an extra Castillian "r". But remember, she also used to think Detroit was in Ohio.

[dareboy]

To Sir Basil: Dear Baron, may i mention your privety was exactly understood here, still got a number of question to Sir Basil about Hell Fire club, and the Salisbery area, please, let me know untill the my shirt is still clean as my Moscow morning.

Andrew 2009.

[Basil Seal]

I see that Fr. M has noticed why I was named Basil...Good eye Fr. M...And V., remember the "pearls before swine" and all that...Dareboy, I will tell you anything you want to know, and I really like the long comments in Russian, as long as you're saying nice things, of course...But I'll take your word for it...And if you're all nice to old Sir Basil, I'll tell you what Her Majesty carries in her ever present purse...V. knows...

[dareboy]

Sir Basil, could you be so kind to inculude your subjective view, your advice are welcome for nex generation in Moscow who would join the Eton+Brighton University.
ohh.. well, enough of me glared at W. Scott.

[Crackie (Who Thinks Geography Is Overrated, Especially Midwestern]

Mr. P, Why it is so terrible to have thought that Detroit was in Ohio? Michigan and Ohio have a common border, after all (I know for sure because I checked before writing this post.)

[Mrs. Peperium]

Thank you Crackie. Mr. P always ignores my reasoning that no one in Michigan, himself included, would notice if Detroit one day picked up its skirts and moved to Ohio.

[Old Dominion Tory]

I think many people in Ohio would notice such a move, however, and do all they could to send Detroit right back home.

[Mrs. Peperium]

Too true and the reason why can be found in the MSM:

"In Detroit for instance, Century 21 Villa owner Randy Eissa has a three-bedroom, one-bath bungalow of about 1,000 square feet listed at just $500. It's a nice place with lots of light, but it needs a total rehabilitation inside, which Eissa estimates will cost between $15,000 and $20,000. But that's not bad, considering that the home last sold for $72,000 in late 2007, according to Zillow.com."

There are over 700 HOMES in Detroit selling for under $1000. But, the MSM doesn't tell us why. It is because when the homes go into foreclosure, the Detroiters go in and strip thehome of everything strippable which kills the value of the home and drives down all the values of the surrounding properties down. The house cited above lost $71,500 in value in probably less than one year's time. I'd love to know how many homes in Detroit are selling for less than 10 grand. That would be an eye opening figure I'm sure..

We have squatters from Detroit in the foreclosed properties here but they have not been able to strip the houses yet. If that begins to happen, forget it....