Sarah’s the Duchess of York. Still. Despite all of the best-laid plans to make her go away.
Best laid. Ahem.
I add this, just in case you’ve forgotten about she of the enormous bank overdraft that was not cured even by an infusion of millions of dollars from "Weight Watchers" commercials. She of the boozy "Access to her former husband, Prince Andrew, British Trade Minister-at-large" scheme complete with a fake biz whiz giving Sarah Ferguson a $40,000.00 cash down payment on what was described by Sarah herself as a $500,000.00 sale of Prince Andrew’s alleged influence, as caught secretly on videotape by the now defunct and besieged "News of the World."
God, I miss that paper!
Do you remember Sarah Ferguson, Duchess of York, now?
Mother of Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie. She of the furrowed, squinty brow that knows no botox. Before she gulped down a freebie bottle of wine and stuffed the $40,000.00 cash into a bag for the cameras, all the while talking about how much "Her Majesty" loves her because Sarah allegedly never took a dime in any squalid divorce settlement like the late Princess Diana. Sarah Ferguson made the headlines for all kinds of antics, which usually revolved around her having sexual affairs with millionaires or men claiming to be millionaires or "financial advisors," and none of these gentlemen were undercover reporters for "News of the World." Instead, they appear to have been Sarah’s lovers, although she described them as "financial advisors." Sarah was infamously caught by the paparazzi being financially advised at an important, confidential, poolside meeting during which time her balding "financial advisor" sucked her toes (according to News of the World) or kissed her feet (according to the "financial advisor") while she sunbathed topless in front of her then toddler daughters as Her Majesty’s Secret Service dawdled in the poolside shade.
Do you remember now?
At the time, Sarah Ferguson claimed that, no matter how that seemed to appear, she was actually working at a proper job, as was her advisor. Publishing. Writing books about parakeets and helicopters. Doing movie deals. A proper job. Very, very time-consuming.
I mean, honestly, when the world came down on Sarah Ferguson, I could relate, as could almost any truly working woman, because jobplace toe-sucking sounds very much like something that, in grammar school, we used to call "brown nosing," only in the workplace, often, such behaviors neither begin nor end with one’s nose. Sometimes, indeed, it is difficult to obtain, and then maintain, a proper job.
During a proper job career track, one’s nose is what one blows into copious amounts of tissue in the ladies’ room over things like employment reviews when one wishes, quite desperately, that one could only engage in a brief round of toe-sucking that might just improve everything, or postpone the inevitable until the rent or the light bill can be paid.
As Marilyn Monroe was once famously said to have said, "Who do I have to brown-nose to get out of making this movie?"
Okay, okay, she didn’t say "brown nose." Instead, she said something rather akin to toe sucking.
But back to the money.
This past year, according to the British newspapers, the Royal Family burned through an unusually high number of British pounds sterling, which means that, instead of the $58 million dollars that was in the Royal monetary reserves, Queen Elizabeth has just about $1.5 million dollars left.
Not even Sarah Ferguson blew quite THAT much money!
But we know where some of it went.
Remember how much the royal news services wrote about Kate Middleton and Prince William living in a rented Anglesey farm house? And about how poor Kate was stuck living in "Not Cot," a beautiful home in the Kensington Palace enclave that had only four measly proper-sized bedrooms and four reception rooms, where she had to do her own transplanting of petunias and the lesser yardwork? Like pulling the occasional weed? And about just how completely unacceptable that was, so that poor Kate was compelled, just compelled, to regularly escape to her parents’ mansion in Bucklebury where there are more bedrooms and things are so much larger and allegedly "normal?"
Whatever "normal" means.
Normal, as in a place where brother James can cross-dress in peace and quiet while puttering around the kitchen perfecting his computerized marshmallow edible ink portrait squares.
James is actually intending to sell these.
For money. And for a profit.
James Middleton says that this is a proper job.
He says that any accusations of toe sucking are strictly between him and his steady girlfriend, Donna Air.
I think James doth protest a bit too much, as nobody believes that he and Donna are doing anything like toe sucking.
They are too busy cleaning up after Lupo the Royal Dog in Exile.
But hold up, let’s get back to "normal."
"Normal," as in a place where Baby George can just disappear off the planet for months at a go, without a photo, without a sighting, without even a hint of usual newborn-baby life going on out there.
"Normal," as in a place where Carole can jivey-dance around her cauldron chanting affirmations from "The Secret" that will now masculinize James and find a suitable match for the aging Pippa.
Pippa claims now to be a writer and has a lot of various jobs that involve her receiving large amounts of money for things like inane, useless cookbooks that teach one how to make tea in a teapot using tea bags. Or how to sit properly while watching the tennis matches at Wimbledon.
Pippa claims that this scribbling is a proper job.
When Pippa’s not working, i.e. telling us to sacrifice our Friday nights by doing exasperating things like making eggrolls from scratch when the Chinese takeaway place ones are perfectly fine, she disguises herself to look like Yoko Ono, Beatle John Lennon’s Japanese widow, and she prowls the rainy London streets enveloped in a giant black umbrella while dragging about with her a huge male mannequin dressed in blue jeans so shiny they are almost blinding and the bluest blue-suede shoes ever seen outside of Nashville, Tennessee or Mississsippi.
Pippa-Yoko and her beleaguered beau are sort of a walking piece of performance art around London.
Lately, Pippa’s been looking like she’s been caught in one of Carole’s conjuring spells gone horribly wrong, and the handsome young fellow she fell in with a while back has been turned into a zombie, or huge male mannequin, or a Golem escaped from the Warsaw Ghetto, or, or....
Anyway, the London papers are saying that Pippa may now be engaged to the Golem.
Anyway, back to the Royal Family’s money.
Where did it go?
Why, some of it went to Willly and Waity.
Kate Middleton and Prince William needed a place to live because Anglesey is simply too far away from everything and the shops close so early, and the Middletons’ London apartment is now a bit crowded what with James and his extensive wardrobe and Donna Aire coming over all the time to take the exiled Lupo walkies, and then there is Pippa with all her furious scribbling and needing the kitchen to test her shepherd’s pie recipes and also snatch some privacy with her Golem.
And so then, instead of Kate or William or someone going out and getting a proper job, which is usually what one gets before getting a proper place to live on one’s own, the Royal Family admitted to spending more than $1.5 million dollars to renovate the late Queen’s sister Princess Margaret’s old apartment for their use.
For some reason, the perfectly good, relatively recently-renovated Kensington Palace apartment that Princess Diana, Prince William’s late mother, occupied all her adult life was deemed unsuitable. Creepy. Too emotionally-charged. Full of memories and all that.
What about wearing Princess Diana’s honking-big sapphire ring, then?
If Waity doesn’t mind wearing the dead princess’s ring every night and day, and Willy doesn’t mind looking at it and getting scratched by its talon-like prongs that hold all those diamonds on while begetting another new Windsor heir, then why should Willy and Waity mind living in the dead princess’s fully-renovated, ready-to-occupy apartment?
Are Willy and Waity afraid of ghosts?
If so, moving into the dearly-departed Princess Margaret’s twenty-one room-digs is like checking into the Hotel California.
Servants have reported seeing a turban-headed wraith in a flowing caftan wielding her cigarette holder like a scepter, reeking of gin and screaming, "Tony! Fetch me my lighter!" and "Roddy! Freshen my drink!"
Living at home, with the ghosts you know and love anyway, is a better deal by far. And the clothes closets in Diana’s digs are likely pleasantly vast.
Living at home?
A lot of people do things like that!
Especially when one lacks a proper job, for whatever reason. And sometimes, even when one has a proper job.
Who doesn’t know someone who’s living in the "family home?"
Sometimes, "Mom" is still alive and determined to stay in the master bedroom no matter what you are paying for. Other times, "Mom" may have been assassinated in a Paris tunnel traffic catastrophe and...and... oh wait, I mean, killed in a dreadful automobile accident, and then you move in because you love your family home, but you do some minor renovations like changing out the wallpapers and those drapes you always hated anyway, and you turn your old bedroom into a home office which, if you have a proper job, you will use about once a year to do your taxes, and your kids will use to do their homework in.
You know what I mean.
Living at home beats having to pay rent or a mortgage from scratch, especially if you are a person with no proper job, like Willy and Waity.
You’d think that, what with so much "ado" being made about the Royals wanting to be so quote-normal-unquote, Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip would say what my grandparents would say, and tell Willy and Waity, "Go get proper jobs!"
But no, the Royal Family instead decided to stick it to the taxpayers and do a fancy renovation at Princess Margaret’s Kensington digs, including asbestos removal, new roof, and on and on and on at Kensington Palace, and pass the costs on to the British taxpayer.
And then, don’t forget about the renovation of Amner Hall. Or is it "Anmer Hall?" Sheesh. It is difficult writing about the Royal Family, for sure.
See, for Willy and Waity, it’s not just living "at home," it’s living "at homes." As in, many different homes.
Anmer Hall is especially large, especially for two unemployed people who have one infant and a missing dog last seen in the clutches of a cross-dresser and his beard. I mean, I mean, a bearded cross-dresser. Sheesh! But perhaps Willy and Waity are looking forward to regular visits from Auntie Yoko and her Golem, or James and his beard. I mean, Donna. I mean, James, his beard, AND Donna. Anmer Hall is one of many homes on the vast property that constitutes Sandringham, where the Queen spends Christmas, and since she privately owns the estate (it having been privately purchased by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert), repairing Willy and Waity’s mansion will be supposedly be paid for by the Queen rather than the taxpayers, but honestly, who know for sure?
Sometimes, it’s not how much money you have; it’s how you move it around.
Like, when your husband refuses to pay for your liposuction on moral grounds, so you restructure the household expenses and, voila! Everyone eats bread and peanut butter for six months, but the liposuction gets DONE!
Having reviewed the Royal Family’s current financial crisis, I have come up with a list of very creative things the Royals could do to generate some income:
1. Offer to host one or two paying guests for Buckingham Palace overnights. If a million dollar donation could buy generous patrons a night in the Clintons’ White House bedroom, why could a million dollars not buy a similar overnight in London? One million dollars for one lousy night, one night a week only, could rake in, oh, fifty-two million dollars, and you could likely charge much more at Christmas.
2. Turn Frogmore House into a hired wedding venue. Frogmore is at Windsor Castle, way around the back, and nobody is using it anyway. There’s another million a year at least!
3. Allow Kate Middleton to pose nude again, but this time, hire your own paparazzi and own the copyright on those photos. Throw in some toe-sucking by Prince William, and that should replenish the royal coffers. And if more money is needed, throw in some toe-sucking by someone who is NOT Prince William. The Royal Family may never need taxpayer money again.
4. Charge a million dollars to be godparents to someone’s kid. Since there are lots of royals and semi-royals lounging about, here, there, and in Canada, this shouldn’t be hard, and it involves, at most, sending something like a birthday card and, if they are really up for it, attending a christening and confirmation. But actually attending events might be part of, oh, a super-deluxe package or something for which you could charge a million-plus. Godparenting is a big thing with royalty, and like my mother used to tell me, "Why would a man buy a cow when the milk is free?" If the aristos really want royalty to godparent their offspring, let them cough up some big bucks!
5. And, for two million, some lucky aristo or corporate honcho can be made a godparent to one of the many new royal and semi-royal offspring. Zara Philips’ just had a new baby so, any takers out there? Just write a check. A good check.
6. The Queen can license her voice for all kinds of things like, uhm, the Suri app, or voice messages ("We command you to leave your number at the tone!).
7. The Queen can do what American heiress Gloria Vanderbilt did when she found that she was down to her last million dollars– design a line of expensive denim jeans full of lycra and spandex that can slimly fit "women of a certain age." The Queen can then make appearances at appropriate places like, well, not Ascot, but maybe she could go to lunch in public or something, wearing the stretchy Granny jeans.
This one, number seven, is guaranteed to bring in a bundle of cash. The formula of royalty wearing something really horrid, like a brown bird-print pattern-repeating dress, and everyone imitating "the look" and tearing across the internet to find more really horrid, brown bird-print pattern-repeating dress, and more and more ugly clothes, is tried and true. The Queen could create her own clothing line somewhere like, oh, India, and then send members of the Royal Family to visit it from time to time, cut ribbons declaring it "open," you know.
8. Pippa can contribute by offering to rent out her Golem to parties, and to make paid appearances herself disguised as Yoko Ono folding and unfolding her gigantic black umbrella. This might actually give Pippa something interesting to write about, because none of us really want to spend our Friday nights making egg rolls from scratch. Instead, we want to do things like see Yoko Ono emerging from and then hiding within the gigantic black umbrella, stare at the Golem, or go to naked sushi parties. Yoko Ono, if she wants to help, can then stir interest by walking about New York City, holding the ugliest, most expensive handbag known to man on her arm, pretending to be Pippa Middleton.
9. Have a naked sushi party at Sandringham. This one is so good I almost missed it before. I have been informed by a good friend who is a sushi chef that for just a few hundred dollars, one can hire several nubile young women enrolled in art history courses at major universities to lie naked and prostrate upon tables, and the sushi chef then decorates their naked bodies with sushi, and people (men, usually) use chopsticks to gently remove the sushi and eat it, while staring at the naked women lying prostrate. Security guards are a necessary expense, but since the Queen already has lots of security guards attending her at taxpayer expense, this means a win-win for the public in terms of profit. The sushi chef swears that he once did a naked sushi party where the host charged the crowd $45.00 a head, and 4,000 people (mostly men) showed up. Even with the one free drink they each received, plus the sushi and naked body costs, the host still raked in a lot of money. And there was a cash bar because who has just one drink at a naked sushi party?
10. Have a naked sushi...oh, did I use that one already? So, if the first one goes well, host another naked sushi party.
Well, there are ten fool-proof ways the Royals can make money–lots of money– and none of them involve getting a proper job!
I’ll be expecting my knighthood or dame hood or at least an OBE to arrive shortly. But honestly, I need no reward for saving the British monarchy.
Betcha that Pippa is just mad that she didn't think of naked sushi parties first.
Now, THAT is something one could write a party planning book about!