Scotland - The Queen is inconsolable - borderline suicidal - at the death of her beloved pooch Dorky this weekend.
On Sunday night she locked herself in her bedroom and drank three bottles of Creme de Menthe to cheer herself up after 'the incident'.
The three year-old Doberman-Corgi cross had got caught up in a Glorious Twelfth grouse shoot and had to be put down humanely. With a big rock. And a plastic bag.
Philip then buried his remains under a large rowan - only for foxes to dig up the cadaver and drag it across the fields all the way to Crathie.
Tonight flunkies feared for HM's marbles when she lit a bong of some virulently toxic African weed 'confiscated' from Young Harry 'for his own good' during the last royal wedding.
A lone Highland Piper, ordered to play the Balmoral Lament outside her bedroom, appeared to pass out cold after lingering by the open window, the airbag of his bagpipes choking with fumes.
"She'll be a corpse herself by the morning if she smokes any more of that foreign muck," royal apothecary-in-waiting Professor Poppy complained to the Duke.
"Yes - indeed!" Philip chuckled.
"Care for some homegrown from the Irish colonies?"