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HRM the QUeen's 93rd Birthday . . Happy Birthday M'am.

Just back from Buck House celebrating Her Royal Majesty's 93rd birthday. She loved the Ferrari Experience voucher for Brand's Hatch that we bought her. She said she was looking forward to giving Phil a taste of his own medicine. Bless her.

Charles was there and he delivered a wonderful speech, and sang the Big Sea's hit "When I am king" and then introduced us to his new BF, a lovely palm tree from the Sultan of Brunei. His mom clipped him around the ear when he suggested it was a rather "gay" present. His nieces Fifi and Trixabelle, or whatever they're called (Air Miles Andy's daughters), were there, resplendent in their new Easter bonnets. Everyone was "fnarr, fnarring" about them except Camilla, who, always one to call a horse a horse, thought they were total crap. The hats and not the girls that is. Duchess Meghan was in the corner selling signed copies of "Suits" for her "Jeremy Corbyn Passover" Disaster Relief Fund, and fair play, she sold two copies to some Prince chappie called Harry.

Afternoon tea was a resplendent affair, with Marks and Spencer sandwiches and fancies service on the best Royal Doulton could offer. Plates. We couldn't get to grips with the organic, vegan, environmentally-friendly dandelion tea, although by then I'd retired to a corner with a crate of Guinness to discuss Chinese cuisine with HRH Prince Philip. He adores oriental people, although he has got the habit of addressing them all as "And what do you do?" Still, at his ripe-old age of 109, he has every right to be a little eccentric. He told me the joke "An Englishman, a Welshman and an Irishman walk into a bar". (The End). He then burst out laughing. I laughed along out of politeness, but have to confess I didn't get it.

Her Majesty's birthday speech was terrific. She had some great tales to tell about all the Prime Ministers she had met over the years. It seems Margaret Thatcher frightened her to death, She showed us the key to the tower she intends to use should "That Mr Cobyn" as she calls him ever get to No 10. She thinks he's frightfully frighteningly frightening and isn't sure at all how he got to be head of the Politburo in the first place. She's not keen on that Mr Putin at all. Naturally enough, as a loyal citizen, it wasn't my place to explain that he is just a very bad joke, especially at risk of ruining her birthday.

All in all. A lovely way to spend Easter Day.
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