Saturday, 21 August 2010

The Queen visits Walthamstow Village!

Thursday the nineteenth of August 2010, a day that will go down in the history books, a day when Walthamstow stood proud, a day when the simple people of the East End put down their pints and said 'Fuck me, is that the Queen sitting over there?'

I'd just collected my dole money on Forest Road, had a pint at the Waltham Forest Social Club (leave September the third clear in your diaries as Tina Turner's making an appearance at the Town Hall) and caught a cab to the Village with the middle Ford. There was a buzz in the air, rumours were flying that a few members of the Royal Family were coming down to the Queens Arms on Orford Road for a question and answer session.

The pretty little thing above was a Miss Philippa of Belle Vue Estate. She smelled like a Summers day and looked radiant in black. Pick of the bunch, the people of Walthamstow treated her like a film star. I managed to steal a string of pearls from her vanity case and am currently trying to push 'pearls on men' as the must have look for Autumn/Winter 2010.

Unfortunately, Prince Philip didn't show up, he was overheard at Buckingham Palace, whilst shooting red squirrels in the garden, saying 'Walthamstow, why, I wouldn't be seen dead round those parts, full of ethnics.' He's not wrong.

I managed to meet some of the Queen's distant cousins, all slightly inbred, and most noticeably, quite hairy in places where there shouldn't have been hair. The lovely lady above, the Duchess of Titley Close, smoked like a chimney. A close friend of Camilla, she also had a face like a slapped arse.

So the Queens Arms has been put on the map for years to come. It isn't everyday that Royalty graces the beer garden of an East London pub, and I doubt it will happen again in the near future. I managed to get the number of the lady above, loved her fringe teamed with bouffant sides. I can see love on the horizon.

This unfortunate looking Royal had a potty mouth and attitude to match. Asking her whether she was sad when Diana passed away on that fateful night in Paris, she declared 'I couldn't give a fuck, Charles told me she was shit at sucking cock anyway.' With an official title of Lady of the YMCA, she then offered to give my friend a blowy in the gents. Nice lady.

After rubbing shoulders with the cream of nobility, I'm on holiday next week, hobbing and nobbing with the wonderful people of Vilamoura, on the Algarve. A hot spot for footballers and golfers, I am hoping to pap some real classy people. Hopefully they will be orange skinned and dripping in Pucci, Gucci and Primarni. Keep reading!

Spare Change guv'ner?

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