Auntie Doris’s Road to Publication #2: Queen Victoria


He has finally got started, our Michael, editing and enhancing or whatever he wants to call it. All I know is that whenever he gets down to it, he still has to put the ruddy tights on. Filthy so and so.
He still wants my ruddy help an’ all, and I suppose he reckons that wearing the tights helps to make the connection.
Any road, he has been getting me to talk to my mother and other people about the early 1900s. What it was like and all that. He has also been coming up with all sorts of ideas, to avoid getting On with it. He has been after me doing a series called “Auntie Doris’s Eminent Victorians” which I reckon is a ruddy good idea actually, but I’m not letting him do it until he’s sorted out this “Auntie Doris Years” thing, and it’s on the ruddy shelves in WH Smiths.
So today he has been marvelling at just how long Queen Victoria was on the ruddy throne. Which was sixty three years and a few months. But then the present queen has done sixty ruddy two, so I reckon the daily sodding Mail will be working on the commemorative pull out section for next year already.
You would think that sixty years would be long enough for anybody. It doesn’t do to stay on the throne too long. Particularly if you are very old. Just ask Prince Charles. It must ruddy irritate him his mother being on the throne all the years that she has been. He will have been having to use the upstairs throneroom for as long as he can remember, and although I bet it’s almost as posh as his mother’s throneroom, it’s never as good when you have to keep dashing upstairs every time you want a proper sit down, just because your mother insists on doing her business at all hours of the day.
Somehow, I don’t think that Queen Victoria’s lad. Prince Edward would have been as bothered. He looked like the sort of bloke who could conduct his business wherever the fancy took him. And he was probably smoking one of them ruddy great cigars whilst he was doing it. And looking at a postcard of some lass with hardly any clothes on. The filthy so and so. You couldn’t help but like him though. And you couldn’t blame him for turning out the way he did with a mother like that.
Our Michael has only just got up to him though, and seeing that he only finally managed to place his arse on the downstairs throne in 1901, you can tell how slow he is going. At this rate, he won’t be ruddy finished until 2024, and he’ll be ruddy sixty odd himself by then.
He has started putting up the early homilies I wrote for the Auntie Doris years on WordPress though. (Anything to get out of doing any real work) he put my guide to the zodiac up this week. You can find it by clicking on “archive” above. He reckons that he will put a few more on whenever he can from now on. But I wouldn’t hold your breath. I’ll keep you informed about his progress.


The Auntie Doris Years: 1981

There were two and a half million people unemployed, there were people rioting in the streets in big cities up and down the country. Members of the IRA were on hunger strike in Irish prisons. Britain was in turmoil. Violence was everywhere. What could we do? Thatcher had to bend the Queen’s ear to get just the right solution. “Your Charles isn’t getting any younger, is he dear.” She said “How old is he now? 32? 33? You need to get him married off before he gets too old to have any kiddies, and too ugly to get a decent looking bride for himself. Find him someone young, and pretty… and docile.” When Thatcher was doing the persuasion, it took someone with a bit more about her than the Queen to resist her arguments, so they got that Diana Spencer, and turned her into the Fairytale Princess who captured the Nation’s Hearts. Poor Lass. She was only 19.
And her stepmother was Barbara Cartland’s Daughter an’all. If anyone understood about romance, it would be her. He might not have been much to look at, old Charles, but that seemed beside the point at the time. She had landed a better catch than I had with my Raymond, a better catch than any lass I knew.
It was a clever trick, and Thatcher, she knew it. And she had dragged the Queen along with her. It ruddy worked on me. I was totally drawn in. Hypnotised I was. It was all I wanted to hear about. And I wasn’t the only one. Thatcher could have done anything that summer. She could have agreed to let the Americans put a load of nuclear warheads in rural Berkshire and hardly anyone would have batted an eyelid. Even if she had given the police rubber bullets, CSS Gas, water cannons, and ruddy tanks to drive in preparation for a civil war, most people would have been more interested in what Diana’s wedding dress was going to look like. I know that I was. More fool me. More fool all of us.
Any road. It was a lovely day. Charles got dressed up like a clean shaven Captain Birdseye with a chest full of medals, and Diana looked radiant in a white dress with all flowers and stuff down the front. My Raymond refused to watch it. Miserable so and so. Me and My Sister Pearl went around to April May’s and watched it on her big Bush Tricolour that our Cyril had got her. My hanky was soaked by the end of it.
We didn’t know that it was doomed to failure and a tragic end any more than the Queen did. Thatcher didn’t ruddy care any road. She would destroy any number of lives to get her own ruddy way. But poor Diana. She couldn’t help being born into a family of toffee nosed upper class twits. She couldn’t really be blamed for getting herself married into another one. She was so young! If she had been much younger Charles would be facing questions from the operation Yewtree squad right now! But by the time she knew her own mind it was too ruddy late.
By the way. She would be celebrating her 53rd birthday this week, had she lived.
Auntie Doris’s Top Pop chart explosion of 1981: “Under Your Thumb” by Godley and Creme. They released “Wedding Bells” in the same year. Both very nice songs for a pair of long haired hippies. I wonder if Charles and Diana used to listen to either of them?