The Queen of Horsewomen

Now that the King and Queen of Canada [sic] are winging their way back to Old Blighty on an RCAF stretch Cessna, Walt can reveal details of an occurrence that nearly provoked a Royal Row during the couple's quickie visit to Ottawa yesterday and today.

Charles and his consort Camilla (Americans should think of her as a British version of Kamala -- they share the same taste in drink) were on hand to open Canada's 45th Parliament by reading the Speech from the Throne, normally the task of the Governor-General, who represents His Majesty when he is not in the Great No-longer-white North.

The couple rode to the parliament buildings from their residence at Rideau Hall in the royal landau, a magnificent horse-drawn carriage. (The very woke king is said to have been disappointed that the horses have not been replaced by a battery.) When Camilla, who is horsey to the point of being horse-faced, stepped out onto the stoop of Rideau Hall, this happened....

A  parcel of wine-flushed stable boys ran out, seized the queen with various sharp cries in horse language, and forcibly backed her into the shafts of the waiting landau. She had been almost fully harnessed when the mistake was discovered. 

Walt can reveal that there was royal hell to pay when the error came to the attention of His Royal Highness, who cherishes for his lady his own queer brand of senile admiration: "Best seat in England, old boy. Finest pair of hands in the realm. Comes down to breakfast on horseback, dontcha know!"

Queen Camilla is very popular with the younger set and is one of the most interesting personalities one meets at the York Hunt Club ball. After a week in the saddle, she finds her relaxation in poetry, play writing, novel writing, dancing and film work.

Walt can reveal that the Camilla complexion, the envy of millions of women, can be had by anybody for the asking. After a hard day in the saddle, she likes to retire to her room and rub into her face a "base" of liquid suet. She then works in a mixture of flour, mashed potatoes and treacle. On top of this goes a liberal plaster of beaten eggs and Scotch whisky. When all this stuff is scraped off, you have the complexion that has payed havoc with many a susceptible young ballet-boy.  

Ed.: We can't have much more of this. Space must be found for a piece about the effect of the Royal Presence on President Trump.

All right. Never hesitate to say so. I can turn off the tap at will.