Caribbean - (Reuterus & Ass Mess): Camilla is sick to the pit of her stomach. Five days of non-stop tropical storms, seasickness and having to share the custom-built waterbed with her Pretender spouse have left her on a gin drip and Prozac suppositories.
The couple are cruising the Caribbean on Prince Jefri Archer's 2,000 tonne yacht named Tits.
"Can't keep the pills down, darling," she whispered whorsely the other morning when caught in the couple's palatial ensuite bathroom, cramming handfuls of blue prescription tablets up the French-preferred medication route.
What was supposed to be a wizard taxpayer-funded springtime freebie has now turned into a hellish nightmare.
Camilla was briefed early on in no uncertain terms by the Clarence House fiction factory Camilla:
It is her personal responsibility to camouflage any vestiges of homosexual rumor about the Pretender's predilections.
That has meant being on 24/7 fag hagging duties, despite insurmountable obstacles such as the Purser assigning two nubile, nineteen year old male skivvies to minister to Charles's every peculiar little foible.
Then there's the on-board masseur, a twenty five stone Corsican brute called Maitre Alphonso, who insists on working on Charles's puny musculature three times a day.
Yesterday she caught them in flagrente delicto just as a paparazzi's long-distance lens snapped up the pair through the open port hole.
At night Camilla can hardly sleep. Her husband insists on playing a fierce porno audio tape at full blast for two whole hours.
It gives on-board security night watch staff the impression of rampant heterosexual bliss.
Another seven days of this and then it's home sweet home.
