by His Royal Highness The Prince Charles, Prince of Wales
QUEEN’S speech? I don’t think so. Step aside, mother, my time has finally come. The King is ready to take his throne.
I shall address Parliament today with the wit and common touch that has so endeared me to my subjects. Crowds will gather outside, sobbing with joy that the barren decades of waiting are finally over.
Granted, I’m not actually the monarch just yet, but today is symbolic. Soon it will be me on the postage stamps, me greeting South American fascists and me on the commemorative plates you can’t put in the dishwasher or the picture comes off.
Mum’s popular, but she’s not all that. She barely has an opinion on contemporary architecture and when it comes to founding her own bizarre model village and making people live in it, she doesn’t want to know.
And I have plans. With my specialist knowledge I shall make England the dominant power in the wildly expensive biscuit industry. I see myself very much as a Henry V figure, but less focused on battles and more on all-butter shortbread.
There is one impediment to my ambitions and he’s tagging along today. William. Some Britons, I’m told, favour him jumping the queue. Why? Just because his wife looks good in a Joseph dress?
Fortunately we royals are experienced in questions of succession. He can live in the Tower for a few years while I have my go. Not in a cruel way, he’d have Netflix and wouldn’t get tortured unless you count his brother’s shows.
So prepare, loyal subjects, for the reign of Charles III. I am ready to be immortalised in history and free Mail on Sunday calendars.
