HRH Prince Phillip, Duke of Edinburgh - My Fake Diary

Tuesday, 7 January 2014

Celebrity diary of Chester P Barrington, Butler of HRH Prince Phillip, Duke of Enidblighty.

Dear diary

As you know of course being my diary and all, I am a very cantankerous old arse. But I'm also a solicitous, horny, back-stabbing shit-stirrer. Well that's what diary's are for isn't it?

It seems 'er from number 13 has got herself in the family way (again). Stupid bint can't keep 'em closed. The whole family's just full of wrongen's. Of course I think they should be locked up, the lot of 'em. Anything but a good shoeing will be too good for 'em.

We're off to Swansea tomorrow to open a fecking tea-room. Mind you I'll need to be me toes for HRH. We were at the trumpet and crow last night. Anyway he'd had a few and started effing and blinding everywhere, going on about how he fucking owns this place and they were all a bunch of plebs. The punters were having none of it and I thought they were gonna' lamp him one ya know. I managed to sidle him out the backdoor before it turned really ugly. Anyway he's been banned and we await to see if they'll press charges.

Anyway the president of god knows where wanted to offer Regina a bloody royal sacrificial cow last week. I told her it ain't 'appenin. I told her why not just order another royal yacht but she was talking about how she'd never had a cow before and the president was so generous for sending him over, bloomin' heck.

We had health and safety round at the palace this morning, well not really. Harry had spilt some sprite in the kitchen and he'd refused to wipe it up. It wasn't my job so I just left a 'slippery floor' sign in the vicinity. That lad wants to watch his bleedin' step.

Don't get me started on his brother. Bleedin' student again. Blimey your 31 mate. University of Cambridge! University of twats more like! Agriculture management. Why not take up golf ball management or the study of bleedin' bacon butties.

Anyway I'm off to the shops we've almost ran out of milk

Ta'ra