Ah’m sick tae f**kin’ death ae hearin’ aboot aw thess Harry and Willyam pish. Ah’ve bin puttin’ up wi’ their s***e since they were weans an iss away’s thah same f**kin story.
Ah mind wance a few yeers ago when ah wis oan Royal prateckshun duty up at Balmoaral.
Thah Queen hod bin goin’ tonto cos Harry kept sneakin’ cans ae Tennunts in fae tha Co-op at Ballater, getting pure mad wi’ et an wakin’ thah hale hoose up wailin’ aboot his deid mither. So she ashked me tae guard thah back door an’ confashcate thah wee p**k’s drenk so they cuid aw get a deeshant night’s kip.
Aboot hoff ten ah see thah shifty wee bastert skulkin’ up wi’ a cerrier bag.
“Haw you, ya shady c**t,” ah says tae him. “Whit’s in thah bag?”
“Iss got f**k aw tae dae wi’ you ya fat f**kin’ roastah,” he says.
“Right. Geez they cans here noo,” ah says, “An that wee hoff bottlae vodka in yer jaiket. Thah Queen says yeez cannae hae it.”
“You take a runnin’ f**k tae yersel,” he says. “Did thah Queen kill 25 Tallabans like ah did? Did she f**k. So she cannae f**kin’ tell me whit ah can an can’t drenk. An neetha can you.”
Then he pushes pasht me an’ pure bolts intae thah hoose. So ah went eftah him cos ah knew ah’d get it tight aff thah Queen if ah didnae catch up wi’ him an’ she cuid be a right pain in thah reng if yeez caught her in a s***e mood.
Ah follahed him intae thah livin room an Willyam’s already goin’ pure radge at him.
“Honasht tae f**k Harry ya wee gingah c**t,” he’s yellin’. “Gie’s some peace. Ah’m tryen tae watch NCIS an you’re tearin’ aboot thah place wi’ a cerry oot an’ that fat polisman an ah cannae hear a word ae whit Gibbs is sayin’.”
“Ah f**k aff,” says Harry. “I’ll be quiet when ya tell ya burd tae stoap greetin’ aboot Meghan.”
“Mah burd’ll stoap greetin’ aboot Meghan when she stoaps talkin’ pure s****e aboot her, tellin’ folk her hormones are sendin’ her mental,” says Willyam. “We hod thah social work roond cos ae that.. askin’ queshtyuns aboot poasht natal dapresshun an’ aw that. She cuidae hod George taken intae care.”
Willyam’s right up in his coupon noo an ah’m juss stonnen there pure awkward cos ah cannae mind if ah’m ackshully allowed tae harresht eethah ae them or no.
“Well mebbe George shuid be taken aff yeez so yeez cannae dress thah puir wee bastert up in a Nazi yoonaform like yeez did we me, ya sick c**t,” Harry says tae him.
“Well it looks like yeez need me tae dress yeez cos left tae yer ain davices yer cuttin’ aboot in a poofy necklace,” says Willyam.
“Ah can wear whit a want. Ah’m no a poof – ah goat a ride fae a posh burd in a field when ah wis, like, thurteen or sumthin…You’re thah f**kin’ poof.”
“How ahm ah a poof ya f**kin’ spazz? Ah’ve goat a wife an’ three weans. You’re ainly here cos oor maw goat podgered by a cavalry officer.”
Noo they’re pure scufflin’, pullin’ hair an’ grabbin collars like a couplae pished up burds an’ stumblin’ aboot thah place. Then Harry falls ovah.
“F**k’s sake ya ripped mah necklace ya dick,” shout’s Harry.
“Nevah mind that,” says Willyam. “Thah dug’s bowl ya fell oan’s pure f**ked. Thass tha Queen’s favourite wan an’ aw.”
“Thass no mah fault, it wis…”
Then the door burshts oapen an thah Queen’s stonnen there in here curlahs goin’ f**kin’ scripto.
“F**k’s sake, ah swear doon ah’ll get the jail for you two wee s**ts. Ah cannae sleep a f**kin’ wink.”
Then she looks mah way.
“Whit’s thah wee gingah wan dae’n oan thah flair? Ah thott ah telt yeez tae keep him aff thah drenk.”
“Soarry yer highneshnesh.”
“Aw yer f**kin’ kiddin, is that mah favourite dug’s bowl? Right thass et. Juss get oot mah sight. Willyam, turn that NCIS pish aff an’ go tae yer bed. Harry, juss f**k aff wid ye? Ah dinnae care where tae, London, Paris, Ameraca, ah cannae eevan look at yeez thah noo.”
Then she slams thah door an goes back up tae her bed, an Willyam an Harry slink aff, leavin’ me on mah ain in thah royal livin room. Goat tae watch NCIS in peace an’ Willyam had left nearly a hale paiket ae they guid Seabrook’s crisps oot. Pure f**kin’ magic.
© DH 2023