Category: Photography

Let One explain. One was born fantastically superior to, well, anyone else One can think of. No, except Mama and Papa and Nanny and Spike Milligan; oh, and that Dutch-sounding guru chappie I knew for a while, who would be a teeny bit miffed if One didn’t recognise their status. Goodness knows what Nanny would have done to me. But One digresses, as so often. The thing is, One gets rather bored with all this waiting for kingship. Unlike the rest of you ordinary mortals, One has done Oneself out of so many actual things to do Oneself – like dressing, shopping, driving, digging holes for plants, visiting the cash-machine – that One has had to write letters, longhand – yes, Oneself! – to some of Mama’s ministers about things that really, really matter. One thinks immediately of architecture. It’s obvious to any man of unparallelled culture like Oneself that Britain should be exclusively populated by buildings in the neo-Tudor style. Get rid of everything else. And One has told them so. It’s not political, is it? It’s sound advice from the High Ground Highgrove perspective. And what’s more, it’s a salutary experience for those ministers to spend their time responding to One. And that Judge chappie had the affrontery to suggest that One’s correspondence with them was training for One to become King. On the contrary, One is training ministers in preparation for One’s accession. But the Judge did get something right in this case: One’s private letters are none of the plebs lower classes One’s subjects’ damn business. And when One accedes, One will rule. Rule, One says! (sounds of smashing china, screaming and soothing words from minions)