Royal Protection

DH, Going Postal
Behold, Balmoral!
Iain FarrellLicence CC BY-ND 2.0

Ah mind aboot a yeer ago gettin’ sackondet tae Balmoaral coaz hoff tha royal prateckshun c**ts were aff fer a hale week wi’ tha wild s**tes they goat fae a roatten chinky they ordahed in fae Aberdeen.

It wis f**kin’ wursh than dealin’ wi’ weans, ah tell yeez.

Fursht that prence Philip c**t comes creepin’ roon tha sideae tha hoose while ah’m oan patrol.

“Thass me away tae tha gamekeepah’s coattage fer a wee drenk,” he says. “If anywan asks yeez didnae see me, right?”

“Nae bovvah yah royal highneshnesh”, I says, hinkin’ f**k aw ov et.

Then five meenuts latah tha Queen f**kin’ tears oot tha front door in her goonie an her curlahs pure shouten oan him.

“Philip, Philip!” She’s yellin’. “Ah swear doon ah’ll get tha jail fer youse ya fly wee bastert.”

Then she clocks me.

“Haw you. Ya seen that Philip c**t oot here?” she asks.

“Naw ah hovnae m’aam”, ah says.

She jist gies me that f**kin’ broken pay packet look.

“Lissen tae me ya wee toerag,” she says, merchen up tae me an’ waggin’ her fingah. “Ah’ve been tha Queen fer sixty five yeers. D’ye no hink ah can tell when somewan’s talken pure s**te tae me? Dinnae take tha piss.”

F**k’s sake, ah’m hinkin’. She’s right up oan her tiptoes in mah coupon noo an aw.

“Youse polismen hov got tae swear an oathae allegiance tae me, no Philip,” she says. “Hink aboot et. Yer stonden there lying tae tha Queen. Who tha f**k even daes that?”

“Tae be fair, ah’m in an impoashable sityashun here m’aam,” ah says. “Ah’ll get et pure tight aff prence Philip if ah grass him en and get peltahs aff yeez if ah dinnae. Ah’ll be tellin’ tha Sco’ish Polis Fedarashun aboot thess cos ish proally a breachae mah yuman rice.”

“Aw f**k, soarry pal,” she says. “Jiss agnore me. Iss no your fault. Iss juss that Philip’s pure f**ked aff an left me alane tae deal wi’ Harry an’ Meghan.”

“Wis that tha gingah c**t an’ tha wee hoff caste burd whit wis dae’in yoga oan tha lawn thess mornen, m’aam?,” ah says.

“Aye, thass the c**ts,” she says. “Pure woke me up at hoff five bangin’ doors. Nae f**kin’ coashiderashun at aw fer othah people.”

“Thass pure pish m’aam,” ah says.

“Aye, an thass no even tha worshtae et eetha,” she says. “They’re in there tha noo damanden’ ethically sourced scrombled eggs fer their breakfashts an’ makin’ sly commentsh aboot there bein’ nae portraits ae derkies up oan tha walls. Iss a f**kin’ nightmare.”

“F**k’s sake m’aam,” ah says. “Ah nevah reealised prence Philip hod f**ked aff an left yeez tae deal wi’ that loadae s**te. Thass no oan.”

“Ah mean, why ah’m ah gettin’ left tae deal wi’ they c**ts?,” she says. “Ah’m f**kin’ ninteh twa yeers auld. Ah’m sappaised tae be up hear rallaxen.”

So ah says tae her: “If we hod a polisman wurken wi’ us who wis bein’ a pure pain in tha reng talken pish aboot eggs and pickshahsae derkies wid jiss hov tha c**t transhferred tae anutha stashun os fer away as poashable, m’aam.”

She sterts rubbin her wee chin an hinkin’.

“Thass no a bad idea ackshully,” she says. “Gettin’ them baith tae pure f**k somewhere oot tha way, like Canada or somethin’.”

“Bathgate’s yooshally fer away enuff but ah take yer point, m’aam.”

“Aye, mebbe. Right, ah’m away for a fag roond tha backae tha stables bafore they twa’ annoyen wee fannies find me,” she says. “Thanks fer tha advishe oaffacer. An’ if that wee c**t Harry comes oot looken fer me, tell him tae take a runnin’ f**k tae hissel’.”

Five meeunts latah prence Harry sticks his heid oot tha windae an’ shouts tae mah: “Haw you – ya seen mah gran onywere? Ah wis in tha middleae showen her aw tha photies ae me an’ Meghan looken aw senshatev wi’ wee black babies in Efrica. She said she was awa’ fer a pish but iss bin aboot hoff an oor noo.”

“You get yerself tae f**k ya wee gingah c**t, ya royal highneshnesh” ah says. “Yer pure breaken that poor wumman’s hert wi’ aw yer pish.”

He didnae get a chonce tae say f**k aw back tae me coas his missus wis shouten’ oan him.

“HAAAAARRRRRYYYY,” she wis bawlen’. “Why don’t yeez move yer granny ootae this hoose? Iss too big fer her. It cuid get turned intae a school fer disadvantaged teenagahas ae cullah or sumthin’.”

Then he goat dragged away fae tha windae an’ ah nevah saw him again.

Onyway, ah’ve nevah bin oshked back tae Balmoaral., whish is fine by me coas there’s no a Greggs fer fowerty f**kin’ miles an’ tae be hoanasht they’re aw’ a pure pain en tha reng apert fae tha Queen.

© DH 2020