PRINCE Charles has instructed his mother that he intends to wait out his days as heir to the throne in the pub.
Friends of the prince say he has concluded that if he is ever crowned King, he will be led into Westminster Abbey in a bathchair grinning deliriously, swatting at imaginary fireflies and singing the Ying Tong Song by The Goons.
He decided that, until his mother says otherwise, his role will be as the fellow who props up the bar of the Hare and Hounds near Highgrove from noon till chucking out time.
In a letter to his mother, the Prince writes: “Once, I had a vision – of a Britain that had razed down the ghastly grey carbuncles of modern architecture and returned to the alternative values of the soil. Each family its own allotment and thatched house within easy bicycling distance of the village homeopath.
“Now, I have an altogether different vision – an increasingly blurred one of a beguiling row of optics behind the bar. They seem to shimmer before one’s very eyes, like The Three Degrees in some discotheque.
“You know, I tried beer in my Navy days. It reminded me of my father – didn’t agree with me at all and in fact made me shudder with repulsion. Now, however, I find it has this marvellous quality of making one wonder why one spent so much time giving a fig about Britain’s soul and so little time drinking beer.
“Because face it, mother, you’re going to live to 120, aren’t you. Just to spite me. Well, mother, think on this – I’m the one already pissed on Old Speckled Hen at two in the afternoon while you’re opening a municipal swimming baths in Bridgwater.
“So stick that in . . . oh my gosh – queer feeling of melancholy and remorse . . . your obedient servant, Charles.”
