Scene: Buckingham Palace, The Queen’s Sitting Room, Friday afternoon. The Queen and Prince Philip are perusing the newspapers while taking tea and some pastries.
Queen: I say, Philip, this is all simply too ghastly for words.
Philip: I’ll say it is. I distinctly remember ordering a mille-feuille and we’ve ended up with caramel éclairs! And to top it all, the cream seems to have gorne orf in the heat.
Queen: One was referring to this octopus which seems to be predicting the results of all the football matches.
Philip: Absolute poppycock!
Queen: Apart from having nine brains apparently, he does have a 100% success rate.
Philip: Well, why don’t you put in a bid for him and try out one or two of his brains at Ascot? I wouldn’t mind being ahead of the bookies for once! And if he doesn’t come up trumps we can have a decent paella.
Queen: The Guardian says he’s received a number of death threats and the Spanish Prime Minister himself is quoted as wanting to send him bodyguards! And the Mirror maintains that the Germans are singing anti-octopus songs.
Philip: Well, as long as they’re only anti-octopus, the rest of us will be all right, I suppose.
Queen: Really, one is beginning to feel that certain heads of state are more concerned about these football matches during the past few weeks than matters of national and international importance.
Philip: My sentiments exactly! I’ll be delighted once it’s all over and you finally return to your usual topics of conversation!
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