THE PRINCESS OF SHOREDITCH

ONCE  upon a time. All stories start the same way. Some end happily. Many stop in the middle and never finish. This is one of those.

Once engaged, the princess-to-be seeks retreat from the dazzle of scrutiny; and the prince reigns in his party excess: pot, exam cheating and Nazi uniforms - three official peccadillos. Private sins remain secret, or at least in-house.

 

The princess-to-be counts the cost. She has access to her own chamber, with italics. Control. Absence of. Arrest, cardiac. Father - estranged, loco, white trash. Hollywood career trashed. Not marrying a man, wedded to the virtues of monarchism. Fragments. Consider revising. Thoughts incomplete. I love his hair. Confusion. Shopping. Inner space lacks credibility. Need another word for trash.  

 

In another press release, the prince firmly believes in toys, outdoor play and encouraging an active imagination, then officially remembers these are his brother's views and stops short of expressing another opinion for the rest of the paragraph. 

 

A student of palace history, the princess-to-be googles all things Windsor. As A Merry Wife of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, and member of Britain's most successful immigrant family, she isn't, thanks to the largesse dispensed under taxation under pain of death, the only one to enjoy dual heritage.

A hundred years ago, German sausage dogs were stoned in the street. Now the streets of Kensington are awash with dachshunds and bratwurst. The residents are fully rehabilitated and here to stay. In the name of Her Majesty, conduct ancillary to genocide and complicity in crimes against peace are compulsory. In another time, another place, such hostile environments lead to formation of militias.

At the mention of arms and uniforms, the prince stands to attention at the end of the line.

"At ease, soldier. Chest out, chin up, shoulders back. And repeat after me: happily - ever- after."

 

 

SAH! YES SAH! HAPPILY EVER AFTER! SAH!