Milla’s Diary

The spoof diary of a much-maligned royal wife and all-around good old broad.

Milla’s Diary, week ending June 12, 2013

NOTE: This is affectionately written fiction. Any resemblance to royals, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This piece is copyright protected.

Thanks to Nash Rambler  for his encouragement!

June 5, 2013

Lovely lie in after the big “do” yesterday. Dear One [husband] grumping on ride home about The Boy [his eldest son] and Preggy getting all the press. Service a bore….bit hungover and all that pontificating nearly put me into a coma. Heard Rugby Boy [hub’s niece’s hubby] snore a bit in the back row–Right there with you, mate!

At home Dear One sipped his organic Chardonnay while I belted back a good stiff one before I died. He then proceeded to whinge on about Mummy and Randy [his little brother] till I was ready to scream–I was trying to catch up Coronation Street on the DVR and it was getting juicy.

Just got him to bed and was putting my feet up with a Jilly Cooper I somehow missed and the secret phone bleeped. Seems Pip [father-inlaw] is to have an Op tomorrow–very hush-hush do to the big bash yesterday. Can’t have a repeat of the Really Big Do Miss now can we?

June 6, 2013

Borrowed a car from one of the cleaning people and nipped up to the hosptial to check on Pip for the mother-in-law. Went in drag as, get this!, an old lady in jeans! What a hoot! Slipped right thru the press corridor unnoticed. Had to all but pee in a cup to prove who I was inside, but it was worth it. The old boy’s face light up like Christmas when I handed over the girlie mag I’d brought. Course he HAD to sneak a peak and set off every bell and whistle in the place! Bod Squad rushed in wielding paddles and smelling salts–can’t have him snuff it on their watch! One of the girls chided it him saying “You are a Randy Old Dear aren’t you, Sir?” Ole Pip gave her bum a squeeze and then forgot why he was doing so. Phone chirped while I was there–the Ex with a bawdy story he’d heard down the Club. Pip loved it, of course. Not so excited by the Organic Vegetable Pate that Dear One sent (it was due for mark-down, of course). I tell Dear One over and over–just something silly and dirty and he’ll be delighted. Like talking to a wall! Haza [hub’s younger son] always gets it dead right. Any way, pulled the bacon butty and chips out of the big purse and you’d think I’d brought the old boy a hooker! Gummed it half to death, but oh! he was happy!

Home to do Downton Abbey dinner with Dear One. Choked on the tough mutton he loves and spilled the God-awful interesting wine he’d chosen from that new fair-trade organic line all down my front. Of course the darling did do the gallant thing and sponge down my boobs a bit for me. Not like the footman would care, but it did so perk the Dear One up. Even let me watch an episode of the Street in peace on the DVR after I gave the promise of “more” when the ep was over. Naturally he was re-reading Laurens Van der Post by then so I wasn’t wanted. Just as well, the dogs were pining for attention so I simply LAVISHED attention on the poor things–they do so love their Mummy! Read more of the Jilly–quite good it was–then nodded off in front of the telly as Dear One watched “Sense and Sensibility” for the 900-th time.

June 7, 2013

Pip came thru with flying colors. Dear One gnashing teeth over it, but Que Sera, Sera, I say. Had to force him to phone Mummy and express relief. Practically had to write cue cards. It’s hell when one’s parents are so determined to outlive one, isn’t it?

Managed a quick tumble in the hay with Dear One–he’s really so sweet about it. Didn’t mention that another tampon voucher came in the post today. Let him wallow about on my boobs while I got another ep of the Street in on the DVR. He’s really such a lamb.

June 8, 2013

Saw Dear One off on his horse for the Trooping rehearsal. Whinged endlessly about the heat and the bloody bearskin. Promised him a lovely massage with that organic olive oil he loves (does wonders on saddle sores!) after and he went right out the door like a good little soldier! Was just getting going with Coro Street on the DVR when my phone blared the Stones “Satisfaction” so I paused it to natter with Pip who was still a tad loopy from the Op. He’d had a grand sponging off from a Philipino nurse and wanted her to get in the next Honour’s List. What a hoot! Imagine little David’s eyes popping over at 10 Downing on THAT request!

Sadly, Dear One went into a coma of ecstacy listening to Elgar on what he insists on calling “the hi-fi” so no repeat of last night’s tumble. Better luck next time, I always say. Ex sent photo of horse pissing–such a hoot! Saved it for the mother-in-law, of course, she’ll likely have Haza set it as her screen saver. Such a dear.

June 9, 2013

Press loving Haza saving that unfortunate young man–“So like Mummy” of course. Had to cut those bits out of the papers before Dear One saw it–we’d have been ALL. MONTH. whinging about She Who Must Not Be Named [SWMNBN] and I hadn’t an ounce, not a single ounce, of strength for that. To save the day,  I had them nuke some of that frozen Kedegree and lay out the silver chafing dishes for a proper Downton-style breakfast to sooth Dear One and SAVE. THE. BLOODY. DAY. Of course he noticed the damned honey was  a NEW. JAR. (oh the horrors of WASTE–can you believe it?) and distinctly remembered there had been two spoonfulls left yesterday in the old jar. WORLD. WAR. III.!!!! I don’t know why I try with these people! I mean, honestly! How hard is it to open the new jar in the kitchen and slop a little back into the old jar and serve him that? Is this rocket science? Good grief! Have these people never had to police the dog’s beloved chew toy or their husband’s lucky pants? Some things must be properly MANAGED. Honestly–they’ve all been to bloody catering college or wherever. This is the sort of thing that MATTERS. It’s the difference between me having a sane day or having that vein in my forehead pound literally for hours on end.

Haza nipped home for a few hours in the afternoon, thank God! Like opening a window, that boy. Such a dear! He asked for a “fag” so I called out “Oh, George?” and as the unsuspecting footman entered Haza nearly peed laughing. Good fun, but then soldiers always are.

June 10, 2013

Pip’s birthday so ran the gauntlet again dressed as a lolly pop lady and made it safely thru, big purse and all. Bit iffy with the fish and chips and mushy peas ponging away like mad in the purse. Had my id ready for the floor Nazi’s upstairs and had the grub to the birthday boy before it was stone cold. He howled over the card–really, where does Haza find these? Too, too brilliant! Even Dear One loved it. Haza’s gift was a poster of a busty young thing in ripped battle dress aiming the gun of a tank provocatively. He does know what Grandpa likes, that boy! Dear One’s gift of men’s organic face toning gel got put aside for the rather outre male nurse. To each his own, I say! We played ‘pass the flask’ as we watched the news–God knows what they were blathering on about, but Pip kept shouting about Tony Benn for some reason. Brainbox must have slipped again.

At home Dear One had a whinge about all the Press lauding Daddy for merely living too long. Let him have a feel of my boobies and he cheered right up. They always do that to him–so convienent when I just HAVEN’T. THE. STRENGTH. to endure more of his whinging.

June 11, 2013

Edith [hub’s little brother] was sent up for the first “official” hospital visit. He whinged about being tired from the Sweedish girl’s knee’s up, but Mummy took him in hand, you can be sure! Only Randy could have got let off, after all, there’s only room for one Mummy’s boy in the Realm. Pip loves tweaking the press by adoring Edith. He’s a frightful little nance, if you ask me, but then no one does! hahahahahaha. Any way, having established Pip would be alive a few more hours, the mother-in-law grabbed her purse and went up to see the old boy. I’m sure it did them both a world of good. She does have a very raunchy sense of humor when it’s just the two of them. So sweet. Must have common interests in marriage, I always say.

Dear One read me the draft of his speech on the loss to British culture represented by the demise of the string vest. No, I’m not making this up. I was trying to catch up the Street on the DVR, but he WOULD continue. A bit long-faced that I missed the joke he’d carefully crafted. It probably was worth a yak, but the Street was getting juicy and I didn’t want to miss anything.

June 12, 2013

What a hoot! We met that tv chap–Mr. Bean or something. Dear One is a fan, of course. So loves loo-jokes and silly voices–right sort of comedy. Quite jolly really. Put Dear One in a very bright mood, I must say. Of course in the car he started whinging about something Mummy had praised Randy for and we were off to snooze-ville again. I slowly and carefully worked the ear-bud into my ear and got a chapter of the newest Dick Francis, well his son now I think, in before we reached home. Then Dear One launched a snit over the chauffeur forgetting the Elgar cd and we were off into more emotionalism. By the time we reached home I was SIMPLY PERISHING for a fag cigarette and a drinkie, but oh no! Had to listen to him practice a speech on the importance of children being taught “proper handwriting” with quill pens no doubt, but I was AGAIN trying to get thru JUST ONE BLEEDING EPISODE of the Street and so didn’t listen very carefully.

The Boy called to chime in with how Preggy is doing. Honestly! You’d think no one else ever had a baby! It took me four days to convince her that Dear One’s awful somewhat tasteless organic Stilton was totally FAT FREE and she could eat it (well, it DID help with the vomiting, but we all know that was self-inflicted. The Boy certainly stayed true to Mummy, didn’t he?). A whopper of a lie on the Stilton of course, but she was debating if smoking or starving was better to survive the “fat” she’s “piled on.” Oh cue the violins for Christ’s Sake! I put on more weight before a period than she’s done in all the month’s of the Century’s Most Important Pregnancy. A sprog in the womb must EAT, I say.

Manged to have a stiff one while Dear One soaked in the tub with an organic vegetable face mask and even managed TWO ENTIRE eps of the Street in TOTAL PEACE with the dogs in my lap. Heaven!

“Milla’s Diary, week ending June 19, 2013

NOTE: This is affectionately written fiction. Any resemblance to royals, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This piece is copyright protected.

Need to catch up or know who is who? Check out the first installment of ‘Milla’s Diary.

June 13, 2013.

Up at unGodly hour to leave for the land of fog and mist to do the Royal Round with Dear One. Was trying to get a last fag cigarette in before slapping on a Nico-patch for the trip while also trying to yank up my girdle (Those Spanx Johnnies don’t mess around, do they?) when Dear One came in to fume about his valet AGAIN. Honestly, this man is paid more than any school master ever born, but he can’t, simply CANNOT remember that Dear One always, always wears tartan pants in Scotland. He’d packed the English striped ones. Honestly! I don’t have enough to do without having to do Dear One’s packing? Then Dear One saw what I was trying to do and decided to be VERY SWEET and help me press the flesh down into the girdle. Well, that got things rolling! Reminded him of nights under the covers with ladies wear catalogs in the early 60s. Happily, we got a quick tumble out of it! What a hoot!

Finally into the car and off we went. You can believe me I had the bloody Elgar cd in my big purse, plus two back ups–one Cilla Black in case his mood changed and one of some chap called Purcell. Should lull him into a coma before long so I can get more of the new Dick Francis (well, I think it’s his son today) in on the iPod. Also packed those tasteless organic ginger biscuits he’s craved since the Epi of Downton when the maid was eating them. Should I have to remember all this? Of course not! There’s an army of staff to remember this, but they WILL still pack the bloody dark chocolate biscotti that he’s QUITE GONE OFF, thank you very much! Also remembered to grab the a couple of dead boring looking academic journals at that artsy-farsty newsagent by the chemist. Anything for peace in the car!

June 14, 2013

Day 2 in Scotland. Dear One a bit miffed at the press. Coverage is all Preggy doing the unthinkable and acting like a normal mum-to-be carrying on with her so-called “work.” Brilliant. No one ever thought of that before. Then there’s the new movie on SWMNBN! Well, that got him off to the races, I can tell you! Managed to stop him before he got into the Home Stretch, by sticking a Kumars dvd into his laptop. Meant sacrificing my ear buds, but any price for peace in the car, I always say. Had the driver crank up the Stones for a whille, but Dear One kept insisting I take an ear bud and listen. Honestly. The show is a funny, but I’ve got them all memorized. Give me the Street anyday, I always say.

Played ‘spot the bum’ since it was so windy and several of the men were in kilts. Such a Hoot! Gave Dear One a new outlook on life when the really tubby lad revealed his bits and pieces.  Still, so VERY proud of Dear One at the hospital with the wounded. I don’t know why SWMNBN gest all the lovey-dovey praise when he’s such a lamb, and so empathetic! They really were pleased–and I do know soldiers, of course. Haza rang Dear One to say Well Done on the hospital visit. Meant the world to him, of course. Must thank Haza properly and give him the new cleaner’s mobile number. She’s a former page three girl so I KNOW he’ll love her and it will get the press off you-know-who for a while.

June 15, 2013

Home at last! Had to drag Dear One up to see Pip at the hospital. Command Performance. Scared me, I can tell you! When Dear One and Randy are ordered to Pip’s beside one does visualize the poor old dear breathing his last, but there you have it! Up we went! Dear One offered not so much as a re-gift, but I had a lovely vindaloo and onion bhajis ponging away in my big purse and Pip was THRILLED to bits over it. The staff, not so much. Just helping him along–they never let you leave after an Op till you’ve done what my nanny always called “your duty…” Nothing like a vindaloo to move things along. Dear One spoke nary a word while we were there. The boys put in an appearance, sans neckties I might add. Do they simply not think? Or do they do this to make me suffer? Honestly, all the way home in the car it was “laxity of standards of dress.” And, could Dear One mumble something to the press about how fab Papa looked? No. Not a bloody word. They’ll be printing the obits within an hour! Poor Pip was in a good humor, too. Had a lovely sponge bath that morning by a very commanding blonde and was still enjoying it all apparently. So German. Such a dear.

Tried to catch up the Street on the DVR, but Dear One wanted to go to bed and play a round of Grand National. A bit miffed over this, since it WAS my turn to be jockey, but he decided HE must be the jockey. Well, it IS simply THE MOST FUN EVER but one does so look forward to one’s turns as jockey. Still, it did wonders for his stress.  As Dear One gasped his last, (what a lovely little smile he had!) I flicked on the DVR and got two whole episodes of the Street in before he came back from the dead and wanted a massage with his organic olive oil. (That stuff costs a mint and all I need is some press Johnnie seeing the cost….well, I have the maid refill it with the cheap stuff from that off-price store where all the OAPs shop. He never guesses! Such a lamb.).

June 16, 2013

Trooping the Colour. Makes one so utterly proud to be British on this the Holiest of High Army holidays. It was the usual mob of royalties no one has ever heard of on the balcony with us. Edith was there in that ridiculous Scottish uniform Mummy gave him so he could play soldier. Who knew he had a second child??  News to yours truly, I can tell you.  Dear One did a marvelous job–always does on the big day! The mother-in-law LOVED the photo I found on the internet of “Trooping the Corgi,” and now wants Haza to make it her iPhone wallpaper. Such a dear! Managed to get a wave off to the Grans in the cheap seats as the carriage went by. I do love my grans!

Home to be forced into Downton Dinner in the dining room with an army of servants. I was perishing for a drink and a fag cigarette (my patch gave out on the balcony) and just wanted to get my bra off and relax, but no! Dear One wanted to play Lord Grantham and dress up in Windsor Uniform and all. Just for lamb chops (organic of course) and some veg no one has ever head of and more of that cat piss interesting range of fair trade, organic wine Dear One loves so much. Tried IN VAIN to catch up the Street on the DVR, but Dear One needed reassurance that he WOULD TOO be king some day. Honestly. So I had to play Oprah all evening and pretend I believed a) he would be king and b) that I gave a damn. Finally jollyed him thru it, but to be nice (and it was a stretch by then, believe me!) I agreed to watch that long, boring “Passage to India” thing that he loves so much. Well, I knocked back a couple of stiff gins to fortify myself, I can tell you. Then the bloody DVD had a scratch in it and Dear One was off the couch ranting away like mad. I got the disc out of the player, removed the dog hair and pushed it back in. Thank God! Harmony restored. Spent the rest of the evening blissful with the dogs in my lap–they do love their Mummy! Dear One nodded off about 1 am so I finally got to watch an episode of the Street in peace.

June 17, 2013

FINALLY! A day of PEACE. Dear One, so dear in his Grandpapa’s shooting suit, made a run down to his garden. Very Lord G I thought when I saw him in it. I stayed home and caught up the street with dd [darling daughter] while the grans napped, then we all had a jolly tea. DD really is a marvelous mother! How she does it all with only that Brazlian au pair I don’t know, but hats off to her. After they left I had a quart of Hagan Daas washed down with a huge gin and tonic. Finally caught that footman who is supposed to “do” me at open mike nights at a nearby drag night! WHAT A HOOT!! Must remember to hire him as a double! Save me endless hours of boredom and well worth the money spent, I’d say. Must have him do Dear One’s birthday party. How hilarious to have him do me doing Marilyn singing Happy Birthday to JFK! Too, too funny and Dear One will so love it!

Dear One home in time for dinner, but rather bad tempered over dinner on trays in front of the tv. It was my turn to pick the show but he insisted on watching some really dull documentary on rain forests or something. I found the Street on the web and watched in on the iPad with the ear buds in. Those ear buds blokes should be put on the Honour’s List! Those little darlings can TRULY save a marriage. The bore-a-thon docu over, Dear One insisted on practicing his speech for me on the need to revive the grand old tradition of Work Houses. I was speechless, I tell you! Had to go into “very-patiennt-mummy-of-special-needs-child” mode to rescue him from this pending disaster. Finally, FINALLY got him to understand it wasn’t a communal effort plan with happy villagers pooling their resources as he’d thought. Suggested he focus on a revival of harmonium music instead. Brilliant flash of memory on one’s part! At Easter I was walking thru the Windsor Castle library, looking for a loo and noticed a display about the Prince Consort’s love of the harmonium. Never head of it before. Happily he loved it! What a hoot! Nothing like an arcane musical instrument to save the day, I always say–NOT!

June 18, 2013

Well, Dear Pip has been sprung from the land of sponge baths and adoring nurses and is home at BP, poor old thing. Ran up to see him, but being on to our secret foodie-fun, the gaurds hauled out the heavy artillery,  i.e. the sniffer-corgis, and I was busted. Had a marvelous sticky-toffee pud and some kung pao pork in the big purse, but for naught. Dear Pip is back to lamb chops and egg-shaped potatoes. Went upstairs to visit with both Pip and the mother-in-law, found later in exceptionally good mood. Pip does that to her, of course. Like that Ghille-whosits in the Mrs. Brown movie–“move your foot woman!” that sort of thing does wonders, I always say. Such a dear. Well he had the cricket on one set, she was trying to catch up East Enders on her set (in the same room mind!) and they kept grumping back and forth at each other, while firing pleasantries at yours truly! Bit like a Twilight Zone meets The Royale Family tv-show. I was half expecting to be asked if I’d had my tea yet or seen any aliens. Well then her phone blared away with the “Andy Pandy” song and her face lit up like Christmas. To save a row, I helped with the mute buttons. When WILL these two use those oversized remotes I got them last Christmas! Oh the rows! “Turn that bloody thing down!” back and forth half the night while one or the other plays hunt the button. With Dear Randy on the line, it can be hours, so I moved over to watch cricket with Pip. Such a lovely game! Makes one proud to be English, I always say.

Well, Pip had half an eye on the Misses and I should have too, but that really attractive Paki was to bat…. Well, the other side of the room went DEAD. QUIET. then in terms Hyacinth Bucket would use she managed to croak “how much, darling? really? I see.” And one JUST. KNEW. Before you could say “sponge bath,” Pip was up and gesturing and saying “give me the damned phone.” I looked to the beasts corgis and said “walkies” since one of the little brutes darlings HAD just wee-d in the corner, but took my time getting up. Well worth it. Saw the dearest Darby and Joan moment ever–gives one hope, I always say. As the mother-in-law set the phone reverently down on the table, for dear Randy HAD rung off in a fit of pique, Pip took her hand and helped her up. “Need a cuddle, darling?” Honestly–pass the linen hankies, please. True romance. Of course then he ripped Randy a new….. gave rather an overly honest appraisal of Randy’s less attractive attributes and the mother-in-law WOULD mount her steed and charge in to defend him. Pip, for once, found the right button and the cricket was blaring again as I took the savages corgis out to pee.

Heart stopped at dinner as Dear One’s phone blared out God Save The Queen. He started choking on his free range, organic mutton pie (it WAS tough) so I had to answer it. Only the mother-in-law mis-dialing Randy, no doubt to hand over the money and set things right. Set Dear One’s teeth on edge, I can tell you. Nothing like a favorite child to upset the apple cart, I always say.  Rest of the night was spent trying to watch just one tiny ep of the Street while Dear One cataloged all the ways Mummy has favored Randy since approximately his conception. Vein in forehead is THROBBING.

June 19, 2013.

Lovely day! Ascot at last. My ONE. TRUE. HOLIDAY. even if it does require a nico-patch and a girdle. Had a marvelous day! A bit squiffy from the lovely champers the Ex kept bringing. Lovely to see him–always does the mother-in-law a world of good, too. Dear One whinged on at full volume about chemicals in the turf till the mother-in-law gave him her LOOK. He sulked at the back of the box with Pip–his FATHER, if you please! I ask you? How desperate can he get! Always trying to play one off the other, but Pip’s brainbox hasn’t slipped THAT much.  Finally the mother-in-law came in to force Pip out for photos and Dear One made a break for it. We had a lovely time together, getting squiffy and giggling madly over the ridiculous hats and not-so-there dresses. Lovely horses, too! I must say, that Sheik of Whatsit can pick a fine animal.

Dear One in a pleasant frame of mind this evening. We managed to worm out of the first night of the house party, shame really, such fun, house parties. But nights like this remind me why it all began when he’s like this! Such a lamb. But then The One True Heir (hub’s sister) had to call! Bang goes a good evening as shrill sis pipes up with a list of complaints supposedly from Pip! Happily though she then got onto a good rant about Edith and she and Dear One were thick as thieves for an hour re-living every slight since Edith arrived on the scene. Don’t get me started.

Was having a jolly nice stiff g & t while watching the street when my phone began blaring Pomp & Circumstance and I had to deal with Dear One’s Equerry. I am simply not paid enough to deal with this pompous little man very often. Honestly, a half-foot of gold cord and they think they’re dear old Uncle Dicke! Little bit of power in the hands of a fool, I always say! Could I PLEASE get Dear One to not whinge on about the halcyon days of indentured servitude or whatever it is this week? Could I? I ask you! Who wears the bloody gold cord anyway? One? I think not. Told him I had no idea how he thought a mere WIFE could have such influence. Had to back up the Street as I’d lost the point while listening to the chap bleat. I mean, HONESTLY, these people are PAID to do these things!  Well, just as the Street was getting juicy Dear One wanted to play Lords and Ladies upstairs. If it isn’t one thing it’s another. No Street tonight and poor lamb–he just couldn’t go the distance. I did think Coronation was a bit of a stretch for a week night, but one does have to keep in mind his fear of never being crowned. What we wives live with!

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