Flirting With Aristocracy - justin_guber

Flirting With Aristocracy

So Man Method calls up to tell me of great works of music and informs me that he'll be spending the weekend on a boat with his family. There'll be butlers and strawberries and repeated use of the words "I say". He's probably going to wear a Polo shirt with a jumper tied around his neck, light brown khaki's and matching loafers. Maybe even a pipe. On the phone I laugh. Deep down I am jealous.

I never did get to experience that whole upper crust of society thing in England. Aristocracy. Ascot. Rolls Royce's and eyepieces. I've never met a butler. And if I did, the first words from my mouth would probably be "to the batcave, Alfred!"

The butler would probably say, "very drole, sir. I've never heard that one before."

And I would say, "you haven't? Shall I say it again?"

And the butler would give me a sound thrashing.

When my parents were working for the Malaysian government in England, every year there would be a dinner where all diplomats and ambassadors were invited to Buckingham Palace for dinner. Every year I'd watch my dad in his tuxedo and my mom in a beautiful dress board a horse drawn chariot and have dinner with the Queen. My mom got to say hi to Princess Diana, although she's probably more impressed and thrilled about it than I am. My dad got to meet Prince Albert. Whooptidoo.

And they both got to meet the queen, and I'd keep asking in my younger years,

"When do I get to wear a tuxedo?! I wanna meet the Queen and eat peasants!"

"You mean pheasants," my father would say, "but you can't come yet because you're too young. You can only come when you're sixteen."

Some of my older friends got to ride that chariot down to Buckingham Palace and courtsy and bow to the Queen or whatever it is you do. They'd tell me about it. I'd wait. Wait till I was sixteen.

And what happens when I hit sixteen? The year where I'd finally, finally, FINALLY get to wear a tux and shiny shoes and ride a horse drawn chariot and smoke a fag with Prince Harry round the back? What happens? What fucking happens?

My dad resigns.

That was my last chance to see what that side of England was like, to experience this whole 'aristocracy' thing, and at the mothership, too. The fucking Queen fucking Buckingham fucking Palace fucking fuck. After that I was gently deported to Shropshire to be surrounded by corn and sheep for two years and discover that playing a guitar is much more fun than attending classes followed by three years living as one of the lowest forms of 18-21 human's in England: a University student.

Man Method, you must do something for me. I beg of you. I'll never be able to meet a butler for the rest of my life, so you must do something for me.

You must call the butler 'Alfred'. And every time you go to the toilet you must exclaim 'to the Batcave!'

Do it for the Khaiser. Do it, and do it good.

30.6.05 04:34

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To date 5 Comment(s) TrackBack-URL

(30.6.05 11:48)
Prince Albert? Your Dad met a cock-piercing? Shurely shome mishtake, Mr g .....

(1.7.05 04:36)
Knowing the strange state of affairs in the royal family, would one be surprised if one met one's cock-piercing in the presence her royal highness?
Probably not. Sorry. It was the first prince that came to mind when writing that piece.

(1.7.05 10:46)
Prince Albert was Queen Victoria's hubby and apparently did have a cock-ring- hence the name - she was a horny old mare.
But Prince Philip, the current consort, is a bit of a cock, so the confusion's understandable ... heh.

Man Method / Website (1.7.05 17:26)
Not only will I demand the batcave, I'll ask him to zip up my tights!

(2.7.05 05:32)
Still... strange how the first Prince that came to mind was one that stuck a steel bar through his manhood. For the queen, no less.