21 July, 2006


Our Mary
Who art in Denmark, unflattering be thy clothes
Thy skin is pale, thy hair is flat
Overseas, as it was Down Under
You lack, we say, some fashion sense
But forgive us our opinions
As we forgive those who hold our opinions against us
And lead us not into believing rubbish
But deliver us from Amber
For thine is a social climber
A vaccuous bogan
And a scheming grifter
Forever and ever

08 July, 2006

Mary thanks Anna Johanssen

20 March 2006

Dear Anna,

What can I say except THANK YOU AND OH MY GOD THIS IS GOING SO MUCH BETTER THAN I EVER PLANNED! You are a genius, lady, and I am LOVING it. LOVE LOVE LOVING it. And the best part is that NO ONE is the wiser as to our little machinations! LOL!

From the second Joachim showed me and Fred a photograph of his new little French croissant from their holiday last summer I knew SOMETHING had to be done about this. It was as if Fred’s alcoholic, perverted beanpole-farmer brother of his had just shown me a freaking MIRROR! Except this was like one of those magic mirrors that makes you look even better than you are in real life even if in your real life you have spent the equivalent of the Gross Domestic Product of Chile on your appearance makeover. It was FREAKY! (I wish they really made those magic mirrors in real life, I’d love to give them to my family as Christmas presents.) Plus her birthday is the day after mine, but in a better Chinese New Year, the BITCH. GOD, I was literally starting to shake in my Ugg boots.

And Jokke the joke-y, as I call him, was just going on and on about how SWEET and KIND and OPEN and HAPPY and shit this girl is. Oh, and how well-educated and well-traveled she is and oh she speaks a million languages, too. LA-DI-DAMN-DA! Well, if that isn’t bad enough that he has a taste for truly and deeply wonderful women who bring him great joy, he also had to blabber on about how she has a real job that he didn’t have to get for her and how she pays her own rent and has some crazy natural maternal instinct or whatever they call that, well, you can imagine that I was checking out and feeling faint by this time. I almost thought the jig was up when I heard that her dog has a better name than mine and it’s actually related to something besides a failed marketing campaign (which was Siimon’s fault, by the way!). No way is sister going to ruin the good gig I’VE got going, so I called you. It’s bad enough she already has the more Danish version of my name. If our little operation hadn’t worked, Anna, that bitch would fit right into Danish society so fast and I would be forgotten in the flurry of “Our Jokke’s Hard-Working Delightful Princesses: A Perfect Fit in Denmark” publicity. Can you imagine if frog girl started blabbering in Danish in six weeks time, and doing it all the while wearing Danish fashions? I’d be TOAST.

Now since you snuck up on me leaving work to have your goon photographer take pictures of me with a scowl on my face and some “back off” body language for the world, I figure you owe me BIG. No, it’s not enough that later I did pose for your cameras “going to work” and doing all those things that other young women seem to do ostensibly to be SELF-SUFFICIENT but really just do to make me look BAD. No, you needed to really make restitution. So I must say, Anna, congrats babe. This is all just so brilliant, especially in light of the fact that my thugs on the street in Oz can’t seem to contain Amber’s ramblings that are going to expose my strategic operating techniques during one 2000 Olympics. WOULD YOU JUST GET A NEW INAPPROPRIATE BOYFRIEND AND SHUT THE HELL UP! GOD.

I never thought I’d be able to successfully get her address from our little potato farmer, but his “staff” is so damn discombobulated since China Girl left him for that hottie who filmed my docuMEntary, that it was easier than I thought. Plus, Nikolaj knows where everything is kept and is just too young to know the truth about Auntie Mary’s strategies, so it all turned out to be a walk in the park. Nothing like pretending you can’t wait to get out to the Jutland countryside and have a hyggelig weekend together. WHATEVER. Glad that nightmare is over! Maybe you’d like to look into having a COOK and maybe someone to take the DISHES AWAY? GOD. And could you be any further away from a Chanel boutique and civilisation? It’s like spending a weekend with Patty or Jane as they try to make dinner THEMSELVES, AND shut the kids and their hubbies up. I do NOT miss Bogan World AT ALL.

Anyway, thank you for being so amenable to this scoop and for putting up with us telling Se og Hoer, too. I know they’re scummy, but not the same scum level as EB, so I knew they had to be in on it, just a day after you, as per our agreement, just to give our little Marie the right patina. My God, she was more of a bait-taker than I ever thought she’d be! HA! Blah blah blah blah blah, did you just love it? I was HOWLING! And what is even better is that everyone is talking about ME because of the sort of resemblance even though her features are softer and more approachable, but they don’t say that do they? NO! They just talk about how much we look alike!! And that our birthdays are practically the same. It’s all about ME, still!

And if that isn’t already pretty damn perfect, all the magazines are covering her and what you said was just a simple 5 minute conversation with a really nice girl who was just overflowing with charm and happiness (GAG me, Anna), you’ve all succeeded in making her look like a loose-lipped idiot-blabbermouth. GENIUS!! Talk, talk, talk (or seem like it) all you want, girlie, it doesn’t phase me ONE BIT. Because no longer should I worry that you and Fred and Joachim and the Chimney-in-laws are going to all speak French together and leave me the freak out of the goddamn loop. Joke’s on YOU, HONEY! Buh-bye!

Everyone is talking about how DIGNIFIED I am and how DISCREET I was during the “entrapment years” or dating years as BB should continue to call them or else I will sue your ass. If any fool ever thought for one half second that I was strategically planning my way into Fred’s bank account, er, heart, then our little French Better-Than-Mary makes me look quite WONDERFUL and PERFECT, DOESN’T SHE? Eat my dirt, mate! Holy hell, people are finally comparing me – favorably this time! - to the original little miss perfect, our “beloved” Alexandra! Does it get better than this?! LOL!

Yes, it DOES! You’ve managed to make this wonderful media madness so furious that I was able to sneak down to Tasmania with the kid. No one will ever pay attention to the fact that I rented a killer house on an isolated beach to get away from that F’ED UP DANISH WINTER crap. No one will ever pay attention to the fact that my kid is only cute with a LACE BONNET on his head to disguise the big ears and bald skull (thanks for nothing DAD). OK, so I had to pass on the Commonwealth Games because the “real” royalty in Australia was there. No way sister is going to try and STEAL MY THUNDER, so I just stayed at the house. Someone might want to write me a little THANK YOU NOTE, mm?

Oh, the relaxation I’m enjoying here at home! It’s like all the stupid “jobs” that Fred got for me through his friends are forgotten! And forgotten that I got him to subsidize me in stupid Paris after I’d already shown up at his door-step in December 2001 and he was all like, well, um, ok, but you can’t live in Denmark I have a place in Paris I’ll let you stay in. Score! (Or so I thought, it’s in some CRAPPY weird UN-glamourous part of town, thanks for nothing Freddo, think I’ll be coming to Denmark anyway!) Totally forgotten that I couldn’t speak Danish until after the wedding! Totally forgotten that I hate his royal cousins who think they’re better than anyone in the world, AS IF. Totally forgotten about my family’s slurping at the trough and free professorships and central Copenhagen flats. Totally forgotten about my stupid ass best friend. Totally forgotten about my manly physique and once tragic weight and skin tone. And totally forgotten that his mother engaged us after I impressed her with my “discretion” – LOL! And totally forgotten everything I said about modern monarchies because well, I’ll admit that’s a hard one and would force me to give up everything COOL in my life like free clothes, and slaves, I mean servants, and horse riding, and shit. That would SUCK. NO WAY I’m living the life of my sisters serving up Hamburger Helper to snot-nose rug rats in stained op-shop clothes with some plumber I’m forced to sleep with yelling at me if it was me who spent the money for a new roof on a new purse as if that is something that you should EVER have to JUSTIFY. WHATEVER. I’d rather be stoned to death by Miuccia Prada herself, for f’s sake.

So good job, but now burn this letter. It was written in confidence and if you decide to cross me and to print it, so help me, I will open the gates of Hell so fast on your crazy ass your Billed won’t know it’s Bladet from it’s elbow. GOT IT?

MRH Mary

Fig Jam

Accounts of her vary
but we should be chary
of Scary Mary
her rellos are lairy
her dad is hairy
her husband's a fairy!

Nanny MacGillicuddy reaches out to Wee Freddie

The soundwaves were rusty with salt air and age, and the accent thick but unmistakeable....it was a Channel, seeking her voice, and rather desperately so...

Saint Aidan’s Home for the Elderly Impoverished, Shetland Island, Scotland

Dear Wee Freddie,

Dear Boy, I hope you don’t mind my calling you “wee Freddie” for it’s what I’ve called you these 38 years – even though you are now as fine a figure of a man as I’ve ever known. Aye!

Dear Laddie, please forgive your loving (but firm!) auld nanny for only now making contact with you. The post is slow in these remote parts and the price of a stamp has gone up terrifically, to something well beyond what I can afford more than once a year.

I know my memory isn’t what it used to be, but I simply had no recollection of your getting married – in my mind’s eye, you’re still a wee laddie ! – so what was my surprise to see you with your own wee babe on the telly on Saturday! No-one else here knew who you were – but I recognised you at once! That’s my wee Freddie, said I – he hasn’t changed since I told him there was no more porridge for him, and he burst into tears, when you were a bairn of but two years old!

And what a surprise for me to learn that your bride was a bonnie Scots lass! And one whose roots lie not so far from these isles. Aye, laddie, it seems her grandparents were humble fisher-folk in these very parts! Some of the older folk here remember them hauling in their cod-catch, big-handed folk they were, able to pull in a full net with their bare hands, even as wee ones, their teeth arming them against the cold, salty wind, whether it came from the north or the east – lucky thing their teeth could turn any way to face that cruel wind.

I remember your telling me, Wee One, that you could have any girl in the whole world as your bride, any lassie at all, as long as she wasn’t Danish. And to think, that of all the billions of funny foreign people in this world – you chose a Scots lassie! Aye, lad, you know where to find comfort in a cold, cruel world; you haven’t forgotten how I used to hold your hand and press you to my bosom when you wept at not seeing your Mor and Papa for days on end. Elspeth MacGillicuddy isn’t one to brag – but there’s nothing like a good Scotswoman’s bosom when a man weeps at life’s harshness!

Well, wee Freddie, I was the star of the day, that Saturday 21st January, once folk here believed that I knew you. “I know him, all right, I changed his nappies from the day he was born, there’s no-one who knows him like his old Nanny MacGillicuddy!” said I. Then I told them all the naughty things you used to do – like the time you played Tarzan in the Great Hall at Fredensborg, and without a stitch of clothing on! “Och” said I. “Let the Wee One have his fun now, for sure when he’s a grown-up lad there’ll be no more of it! He’ll be years and years in the Navy, like our Prince Charles, or fighting a war, like our Prince Andrew. Many a time I told you the value of hard work, wee Fred. The devil makes mischief for idle hands, said I. Idle, my wee Freddie will never be, sure as my name’s Elspeth MacGillicuddy!

Well do I remember also the day you stole your Mormor Ingrid’s tulip bulbs and stuffed them in the exhaust pipe of her Bentley! Your blue eyes sparkled at your clever trick! She had to be driven to her engagement in Cook Jacobsen’s Volkswagen. What fun, trying a new car – you went along too, just for the fun of it, but you seemed a bit unhappy that the car didn’t go fast enough. “Is this really a car, or just a toy thing? It’s slower than an escargot,” you wailed.

Of course, you would never have guessed, naughty laddie, that Mormor’s Bentley would never run again. But anyway, you learned a very important lesson from your little prank : it taught your family that they must have a whole fleet of cars, in case one broke down, a lesson I think you never forgot. One car is not enough. Even two – you need close to a dozen cars to be sure you get to your Important Events on time. And don't try to do too many Engamements at once - it mights tire those cars down!

Well, as I recall, your family bought three Mercedes to replace that auld Bentley, and of course, it was an occasion for a party. Your dear Mor the Queen does so love to dress up! There she was in her floor-length frock, her jewels and her furs, and your Papa provided three bottles of the best French champagne, one to christen each car with. The lovely spring weather added to the joy. It was the day of your birthday, Freddie my boy, and the Foreign Minister and the whole Diplomatic Corps had prepared a big reception in your honour; you were so looking forward to it, even though you promised me that you wouldn’t touch the demon alcohol that I afeared would be flowing there!

But you put your foot down, showing the manly resolve that has surely only grown with the years. “I’ll never miss a Christening, Nanny,” you said. “And Mor and Papa know how I love cars, so even if I can’t drive, I’ve been named their sponsor! You wouldn’t believe that I’d miss such an occasion, Hankie, would you?” You stood there, your eyes wet with tears of pride, as you were named sponsor of the cars, and glad was I that you missed that foreign thingamejig with the demon liquor. I knew than that my lad would always put his duty before any fun and games!Forgive my old mind wandering back to happier times, Wee One. I return to last Saturday. “But is it a real royal family?” folk here said. “Where’s the Queen? Or Prince Charles, or Philip, or Anne? Why aren’t they there?” Much trouble I had to explain to them, Wee One, that your family was more established than ours! That you count among your ancestors Gorm the Old! “Gorm ‘oo?” said one. “Plenty of old folk round these parts, but no Gorm that we know! Is it old Norm you mean, the crofter on the other side o’ th’isle?”

I can tell you, those happy auld days in the palace seemed far away then, as I huddled with the other inmates here, trying to keep warm, watching on our sturdy Black and white set, mouths open, and not a tooth in sight!And even on our tiny black and white set, I could see that it was a beautiful ceremony. None of those fancy flowers or funny business that they have in the Cof E, let alone Rome! Those wee Scots bluebells in the homey pots were all these old eyes could see, and happy I am that you are keeping the lessons you learned at your old Nanny’s knees – thrift! That’s wee Freddie, said I. He wouldn’t spend ha’penny on anything not needed! I showed him how to darn clothes so that they’d last 30 years! No fancy togs for him! He wouldn’t stand for it.

And I ne’er heard you speak the whole time but I know you remembered my other lesson – do not mumble! Speak clearly and firmly – the Guid Lord gave you a voice – use it!My auld eyes knew your Mor and Papa at once, but I couldn’t find your Mormor – where was she, and how is she keeping? I am sure that we would have many memories and things to share, being of the same age and all; our lives are probably very much the same.

After it was all over and I’d dried these old eyes, Norm the Old came hobbling over and showed me the guest list. Well, I can’t afford any new specs, no, not even NHS ones, and the auld ones have to do; how I wish we could darn specs the way we darn clothes, to make them last for years! Of course, as I brought you up to do, you’d have sent my invitation by third-class post, and that and the remoteness of these parts must explain why I never did receive my invitation.

But I managed to make out, with Norm the Old’s help, that there was a knees-up in the evening and that you had been your usual firm self, very decided, that the staff must not attend.Dear Wee One, you haven’t forgotten what I taught you about the Guid Lord having a place for every one of us, and that we all must stay exactly there!

How well I remember, when you were born, that you Dear Parents invited me to the after-party. Well, those were different times, and as your father would say : “Autres temps, autres moeurs”. That was what they called the “Permissive Era” or the “Swinging Sixties”, and well rid of them, we are! I felt so out of place at the knees-up after your own baptism, with all those lovely-looking ladies in their jewels, and me in my old, well-darned cardie, my brogues and kilt. I remember your dear Papa, a true nobleman of the old school, in the spirit of the Auld Alliance between France and Scotland, inviting me to dance the Schottische with him. Oh, he did whirl me around the dance floor! But still, it wasn’t right, a humble helper as I was proud and happy to be, dancing with a Prince! It’s one thing to change a prince’s nappies, but another thing to dance with one. I am so glad you have rid the palace of those “permissive” or “progressive” ideas and returned to the Auld Ways, Wee One.

So when folk here say you have forgotten me, I don’t believe a word they say, for forgotten my teachings you have not! Frugality, resolution, firmness with staff – all these are plain to see, as plain as the nose on my old face.Some wicked tongues here, Norm the Old especially, said you looked like you might enjoy a drop of whisky. “Not my Wee One!” said I. He promised me when he was just a laddie that he’d never touch the stuff and to this day, I am sure the Demon Alcohol has never dimmed your sweet blue eys.

Norm the Old also told me you had a nanny, a bonnie young lass called Missie, for your own wee one. Dear Freddie, are you sure such a young, spirited and beautiful girl will exert the right kind of influence on the lad? Forgive me, but I don’t understand why you would choose a buxom lass only out of the cradle herself, rather than call on your old Nanny MacGillicuddy for help in instilling principles and values in the bairn. What can she offer that I cannot, though my hands tremble with age? My hearing is not so bad that I wouldn’t hear the wee one’s crying, and rush to comfort him, as I did to you, when you cried, and cried, and cried as a lad. Your Papa commended me for my patience with all your crying – and patience is not a virtue of the young. So wee Freddie, if Missie disappoints, you now know where a firm hand, a comforting cardie and an absorbant bosom can still be found.

Wee Freddie, my own bonnie prince, once this reaches you (since it’s overseas – and it is - I don’t care what they say about this “Europe” business, I can only afford a fourth-class stamp) please do tell me about your lovely Scots wife and the bairn.I would be most humbly grateful for any word – and it would be the most exciting event at Saint Aidan’s since Norm the Old took a bonnie boat to the mainland for his hip replacement.

Your ever loving,
E. MacGillicuddy (“Hankie” or “Nanny”).

Rob (Roy) Woad-bod and the Picts

Mr Rob (Roy) Woad-bod
Wee, Dram and Bairnspiddle Barristers and Solicitors
Hwiskey Hic Brook Thrae HeatherARGYLLSHIRE
email: weedram @ haggis.och.sc

Dear Mr Woadbod,

I've been given your details as a leader in the field of Pictish Indigenous rights. My clients are an Australian family of traditional Bogan culture who wish to lay claim to the Crown Jewels of Denmark on the basis of Indigenous Rights. They wish to base this on Aboriginal family lore here in Australia, where communal ownership of property has been used successfully to argue for communal land rights. They are yet to decide whether to pursue rights as Picts or as Danish Royals through the marriage of one of their number into the Danish 'moiete', giving them, they argue, equal ownership rights with the Danish Royal Family to all Royal estates. Naturally these rights would then extend to other Danish royal brides; they attempted to bring Princess Alexandra into a joint legal action but she has so far demurred.I will be telephoning you, and this letter is to put you in the picture about the topic I wish to discuss with you.

Yours faithfully,
Tjakumarra 'LuruBarrister at Law
"The Block"

Dear Tjakumarra 'Luru and Many, Many Associates,

Thank you for your phone call of a wee while ago, thanks kindly. You called at drinkie time at your end, and I was at drinkie time at mine (how astonishing, given the time difference!) so it was indeed a warm and lively interaction for the unacquainted. But that's how it is between Indigenous peoples, is it not, in the face of oppression? Indeed, I receive calls from an Indigenous colleague in Wyoming quite frequently - and his drinkie o'clock is the same too!!!Now, if I read you arright, you have clients, a clan named Boganson, trying to decide whether to identify as displaced Scotch Picts or de facto 'absorbed' Aboriginal Australians for purposes of getting their wee paws on the Crown Jewels and sundries of the Kingdom of Denmark. I'm inclined to advise that the Aboriginal Australian identification would be the way to go.

I consulted an expert at the School of Anthropology in London, a Pictish Indigenous colleague who works in the Pacific Section and is well happy to push for Indigenous rights. He was tired of dusting off skulls so organised their return holus bolus. Hard to identify which communities they should return to, but really, that wasn't the issue. The issue was our righteous desire to get RIGHT UP the anthropology aristocracy and oppressors. Wha hae!!! Anyway, our colleague advised that Pictish rights apply to land rights only, and not possessions. Something cultural I suspect, and due to our frugal and dissembling Scotch forebears failing to let on that they were accumulating possessions. So if frozen turf is that Bogansons' bag, they're welcome to pursue that line. Frankly I think the Indigenous Australian path is the path to a much more lucrative Dreamtime for the Bogansons! According to Aboriginal law that can easily and convincingly be resurrected from 20 millennia ago through paleological records etc, anyone who marries into that family, and his entire 'skin' or clan, has to share EVERYTHING. That means, in the case of these Bogansons, they can lay claim to the Danish royal family's assets and also those of that French hanger-on, Henrik something-or-other, if his family owns anything at all. (I hope we're organising a percentage fee!) Small downside PR-wise would be that the rapist has to be included as family.

It is EXCELLENT evidence of communal breeding and common-nesting identity that the rapist was invited to the Royal Wedding some five months after charges were laid. I'd recommend sifting through the monikers of the Bogansons and looking for the original Aboriginal versions of their names. Patricia's 'skin name' would be Partjartja. It appears there was the equivalent of horse-face back then, even though there were no horses extant! Perhaps the name refers to an echidna. John (Jr.) Boganson would have been Donfuckencallmebaldboyo, I would expect. The Bogansons sound well under way with the first step in the proceedings, which is to move onto the commonly owned frozen turf, or within the screech of the most powerful woman in the tribe. Visually you would expect it to be the mother-in-law, due to the size of the thrust breasts through grey gaberdine. But there are no hard-and-fast rules. John (Sr.) Boganson's Chad Morgan teeth are something of an indicator. Chad Morgan was part-Indigenous, and his song "I'm my own granpa" is a rousing inspiration to clan claim intricacies. To cut a long yarn short, all the Bogansons need to is all turn up on Kingdom of Denmark soil at the same time, and do a sit-down on the ground with a member from each side of the family wearing something along the lines of a possum-skin cloak and express the desire to have it all, and have it now. The spearhead Boganson, Mary, need do no more than she has already done - combine genes with Frederik and produce a mixed moitje member. All done, sewn up. I'd say the mink carry-all qualifies as possum-skin cloak. That was smart of Mary, getting her hands on the Danish Queen's cast-off fur coat!

In an interesting coincidence, while I was doing some traditional Indigenous Pict poaching in the woods a few weeks ago (on that estate some latter-day Vikings from Legoland stole off the original Saxon thieves who of course robbed it from MY ancestors) I came across the princess in conference - in good Indigenous sit-down fashion - in the woods. She and a big robust fellow and an extraordinary looking small jumpy woman - definitely not Pictish, more Indigenous Cornish. Corned beef complexion, Cornish, indeed!!! They were sitting around a very traditional Bogan Culture instrument know, I believe, as a 'bucket bong'. I have lost my indigenous sneak-up skills, and unfortunately overheard very little of the conversation. I did, however, get a close-up look at the princess from behind the snowman they had been having fun making - a dead ringer for Prince Frederik, with all sorts of symbology attached and an unfortunate exaggeration of some of his odder features. A baby gosling with a beer belly came to mind. The princess is indeed of exceptionally Pictish/Celt appearance. Incipient jowels - very much in evidence at the christening pictures - are an unmistakeable marker of the 'nooo stuff and nonsense laddy!' mentality our Pict/Celt women have used to conquer the spirits of nearly every weak-chinned male on the planet, the greatest emotional colonisation in history. Wha hae! Tjakumarra, you'll do fine. Denmark is full of bleeding-heart intellectual academics, because, as you know, those Scandinavian countries rely on higher education conferences, and troubleshooting genocides and things in farflung lands, to get anyone on the planet to visit. Where there is a culture of fuzzy academics you'll find fertile ground for our ancient laws to seed and prosper. Pictish and Indigenous Australian is a powerhouse combo. At least as powerful as the Vikings when they invaded the south of England.

And according to the tale ye tell, the surprise element all there, thanks to the princess's genius for distraction and subterfuge. Maths chair!! Hah hah! Creative writing lecturer! Hah hah! I await with great amusement the job designations of the remaining many! Let us know if we can proffer further advice. I'd suggest you take on the skin name Boganson yourselves in the meantime, by some circuitous route. I'll be investigating that avenue meself!A word of caution: Danish jante-law may pose an obstruction. I have taken note of your comments about an "We're better'n you f***face" tendency amongst the tribe. Jante-law will mean the slow Danes may take their time but they may wake up and apply jante-law to their thinking. I have taken the liberty of contacting a genetic expert, Dr Yehudi Geldstein of New York, in the hope that he can unravel the genetic basis for any Boganson traits that pose a risk to their plans. "So whaddayagunnadoaboudithuh?huh?f***face" genetic tendencies may need to be discreetly countered via substances and cordials of the convivial kind.

Wha Hae!!!

Yours sincerely,
Rob Roy Woad-Bod (soon to be Boganson!)

Post-Christening Wrap-up from Mary to Fred

[Found handwritten on scented Kancellihus notepaper, with a gilded monogram and edging]


LOOK. If I go to great lengths to organise a candid shot of you and me IN LOVE I expect you to RECIPROCATE. There I am, sticking my bottom out to the photographers just like the animal behaviourist we consulted said, doing my baboon-lady thing at the cameras, like I did in Greenland, then when they're all tuned up and ready, WHADDAYADO? You EMBARRASS ME. I mean, the photos show me pursing my lips at you and I've got my ARMS hard around you under yours since I obviously had to grab you first and you just look stunned and like you don't want to be there. What's with the stiff neck in the photos? There damn sure should have been a follow-up kissy kissy shot, so where’d that one go? Don't think I haven't had a good, hard look at the product. Niels gave me a head’s up on what they’d be releasing, as per our agreement. At least all those shots of me looking care-free, randy and highly sexualized a la Diana came through. With NO HELP from YOU, I might add! So much for all that effort tipping off the photogs. Did you really have to invite the girls along? Big huggy kissy Fred-Mary “candid” shots had MOST of their cachet neutralized by everyone wondering if the blonde was goddamn Amber. JESUS.

Please don't trot out your usual excuse: pale, pallid, hungover. I actually WAS pale, pallid and hungover myself the day before the christening when you wouldn't get out of bed to bring Ziggy for a walk. At least Jane & Amber came along to make me look better. I had to ask the cook’s assistant to come along and totally wrap herself up in scarves and hooded jackets to make people think she was Patty. GOD, those bitches are impossible to wake up in the morning. Not a one of them has my self-discipline. And then there’s Amber and Patty who are all salt-deprived and parched from the big tequila bender you organized for yourselves the night before. Proud of yourself? No, Patty, I’m NOT driving you to McDonald’s for HANGOVER FRIES like you made me do when we were younger! GOD. Would that ruin my image in two shakes, or what? “Yeah, hej, I’m Her Royal Goddamn Highness Crown Princess Mary. Will you kiss my ass, then super-size me like Kerry Packer did before he DIED?” GRRRR. Just SLEEP IN, FINE. Of course, did I mind being busted “casually” gazing at photos of you and me in a shop window? NUH-UH. Why the hell do you think I TOOK that route. That is some of Steen’s best air-brushing EVER, even if the bub’s yellowness couldn’t entirely be erased. But who cares, the shots of him in that scratchy, yellowed christening gown are gonna ROCK THE AUSTRALIAN MEDIA. Oh, yeah!

Bottom line. You're letting down the side and I don't like it. We have a corporate restructure happening, Frederik, and I'M the corporate psychopath the DRF advisers let in. Like it or LUMP IT. You know damn well that ALL you have to do is satiate my EGO by making it look as though I'm on a pedestal, and let me get on with the restructure. Do you notice?? Letting the staff along to the christening? BRILLIANT! They haven't noticed the PAY CUT because they're so damn STARRY EYED. I would have let them along for the reception except you pointed out the staff would be indistinguishable from any of my rellos. OK, I conceded on that.

You said you don't want to run Denmark you just want to remain my baby boy, well FINE, but do as you're told, if you don’t MIND. Do you think its fun looking at a five foot ten toddler all day? Do you blame me for looking past you and STRAIGHT at those spunky cameramen whenever I get the opportunity??? OK, OK, so my come-hither look resembles a smirk - but it WORKED ON YOU, remember??? I don’t care that you were drunk all through the Olympics, you certainly came back for MORE, BABY! GOD, it’s like your short-term memory is going haywire again. Have you been dipping into the diplomatic bag, schmookums? Well, GIVE IT A REST. I need you to FOCUS, DAMMIT! You’ve got my work to do.

I'm starting to get the SKEEVES with being Australian. Who the hell told Joachim to marry someone with CHINESE blood? Oh, yeah, you were there at their first encounter, all encouraging it probably. You ALWAYS had a thing for her. You’re most likely still pissed that she didn’t notice YOU as much as your scarecrow brother. WHATEVER. But, look, the Chinese are taking over the whole goddamn world and their economy is growing at 16 per cent a year. I am so burned and ropable that Alexandra has the right blood for trade relations with the Chinese. Why can't I be part Chinese? I want the suits to organize something: some Chinese ancestry for ME. Get Chinese Per on it right away. Bloody snippy crappy little Australia - who would BOTHER. I only used those eucalyptus leaves in the church because of the Tasmanian Devil fiasco and the Scots genes in me MADE me be frugal. Bloody hell, what an ancestry I’ve got. So, GET CRACKING, Freddo!

Speaking of Alexandra, who told her she could wear the best outfit of the day? The thigh-high slit will be MY department from now on, thank you very much. My hockey calves will have been massaged into extinction by next summer. They're working hard on it as I write. I’ve got a little Chinaman right here beating them into atrophied submission. He’s gonna teach me some phrases on the side so I can finally start impressing people with something other than my righteous new skin and hopefully, I’ll finally get some good, solo, heroic-looking, Diana-esque overseas gigs just like LITTLE MISS PERFECT. Now we’ll see just WHO is stealing WHO’S THUNDER!

And LOOK. Tell your mother to STUFF IT about the reception. I am SO TIRED of it, already. OK, so everyone thinks it was kinda CRAPPY. Maybe I wanted it like that. HUH? Maybe that was all part of the PLAN. It’s not MY DAMN FAULT that the staff refused to cooperate and not bring the little flower pots over from the church to the hall on their way back home. They’re so damn SELFISH, sometimes. THAT’S why the tables looked so empty with those bare white tablecloths they use for Rotary Club dinners. They totally would have ROCKED if only the staff had done what they’d been TOLD and not if they’d been coral damask with light green runners and pretty multi-colored bouquets because NO ONE IS ASKING YOUR MOTHER WHAT THE HELL SHE THINKS! And by the way, the low number of tables and the no chairs idea was MINE, thank you very much. That way, people couldn’t get comfortable and avoid gazing adoringly at the baby and kissing MY royal ass! PLEASE don’t think that I don’t think these things out VERY CAREFULLY.

About the flowers, FOR THE LAST TIME, in case you were MISTAKEN, Frederik, that was NOT of my own volition. I fight my Scots frugality genes SO HARD, and so does ALL my family. We're making great headway. Whadja think of that horrid outfit Susan wore? My lady’s maid found it at UFF and I had her sew a Malene Birger tag to the inside. She’s too freaking STARRY EYED to notice it used to belong to some 79 year old pensioner in Odense (probably one of the same idiots who went to see her there on her “book tour” back in November). I am NOT responsible for the red accessories – that was her own brand of crazy coming through. At least we got Patty and Amber in hats that covered half their ugly mugs. Except it stressed Patty’s monster chin. Damn. But, really, didn’t you think the flowers were exceptionally LOW KEY? OK, even though they DIDN’T show up on television, STILL. There was none of that vulgar, showy, drama BULLSHIT from your mother. Just a nice, pathetic, completely out-of-scale and -season little showing of buds to buy some points from the goddamn PRESS about how I am just a simple, non-extravagent being. Plus there was some not-too-subtle messaging going on with those blooms that your mother must have read given her double and triple takes after she was seated. HAHA! That idiot Bodil Cath, of course, bought my scam hook, line and sinker. Except I found myself handing a coat to Hamish's girlfriend to wear to the christening instead of just spending a fistful of kroner on a new one for her. You know, the same one that I let Jane wear at the rehearsal. You know how hard I've been trying. Like how I didn’t even bother getting out a coat for you for the christening. THAT’S why you were freezing your ass off. I had on thigh-length long johns, mmmm, toasty! The less I spend on others, the more that comes to ME for PRADA. And that goes DOUBLE for not spending on Jane and Patty or the ‘rents. Uh, maybe you girls would like to GO HOME NOW AND REINTRODUCE YOURSELVES TO YOUR CHILDREN!? GOD. But look, FRED, if I slip up occasionally, I want you to compensate with a wee taste of jewelry EVERY TIME, OK?! Doesn't matter what color, as I suit ANYTHING.

In case you are wondering why I'm WRITING to you instead of running up and down hallways hunting for wherever you are HIDING OUT on any given day, it's because I've decided MY place in history as the savior of Denmark warrants being on the record from the word GO. I mean, the Queen Mother RAN THE SHOW, but all that's on the record is her hubby blubbering and refusing to cut an ostriches tail feathers in South Africa or something, and the Queen takes over. TAKES OVER. SNIP!!! Tailfeathers gone. Oh, and she got the ostriches tailfeathers too. That’s an anecdote you’d be wise to remember, eh?

As you know, Frederik, I have YOUR peacock tail already firmly attached to my bedroom wall - secured with only one or two pins, I assure you. If you want a figurehead place in the restructured Denmark you will want to take note of my counseling, or it will be escalated to the next corporate stage. And don't count on any unfair dismissal laws. They'll be well gone. And STUFF democracy, by the way. Had a great conversation with George Bush about thatty, and learned a few helpful tricks. Having a highly intelligent narcissist as head of state always works best, so step aside, dollface. Look at North Korea. OK, so the yachting is non-existent, but do they know how to put on a show! AND they don't eat much. It's ALL kept for the state coffers, as it should be. AND there's that really important demarcation between BOGANS - I mean peasants - and the ruling class. I want ALL bogan peasant types kept RIGHT out of any camera frame anywhere near me from now on in, and I'm making that clear. Only aristos, please. Except I DON'T want La Baronesse herself, Helle Reedtz-Thott, in the same camera frame as me again either, thanks. Didn't mind a leg-up the social ladder and the gossip rags going to her wedding, but do you think I want to be photographed anywhere NEAR her anymore? She looks like a damn hologram next to my Amazon build, plus she’s a crap-load more naturally stylish than I am, DAMMIT. Can you see why I want AMBER as my foil? Especially how she’s for the time being still choosing to be with Mark, and baby, mark my words, they’ll be bruises and scabs galore coming out of THAT sick relationship!

Speaking of which, you KNOW I didn't give up a young rugby player - the PINNACLE of prestige for an Aussie chick - for a rapidly diminishing, inbred prince without an excellent strategic plan in place, don’t you? You may think two thousand changes of clothes and a couple of borrowed baubles are enough compensation for humiliations like having to cry along with you in church so you won't look more sensitive than me. Do you know what that is like for someone with my hormone mix having to put on a Bambi face? That’s right, kiddo, DAMN DIFFICULT. So, we’ll be alright as long as you remember just WHO OWES WHO.

And NO attempting to usurp my hands-on parenting persona, OK? I can read you like a book. Next time, I get to carry the mink baby carrier, OR I'm photographed instructing YOU on how to carry it, I mean him, OK? JESUS. And let me just get this out in the open RIGHT NOW, if this Islamic cartoon BALONEY continues, you can just leave my ass out of ANY sort of showing of DRF “solidarity”. I DO NOT condone the showy antics of dictatorial, self-centered, badly-dressed totalitarians! GOT IT, bitch?

Where are you anyway, one of the webcams has had a sock thrown over it or something. Hmmm. It was strange to see that it was a diaphanous sock, and in hot pink, no less. Odd, it looked like those that Misse wears. LISTEN, if it belongs to some bitch who’s hotter than me you are SO in for a lashing. And not a hot, kinky way like I used to let you before I got my ruby ring, ‘cause I’M holding the reins, now! Ride THAT horse, baby boy!

Your real mama,


Pre-Christening: Mummy answers Freddles

Den 20. januar 2006

Cher darling Frederik,

I have received your recent, anxious letter. I do say, you indeed have quite a strong wife on your hands, much more stubborn than I originally guessed, but truly, darling, you must go deep, deep inside of yourself and find your inner royal Viking and start taking charge in your marriage and remind her of just who butters her rug-bread. We cannot allow her to actually prevail. It is one thing to lead her to pretend she has choices now that she’s in our family, but the dynasty must trump our little Scottish womb. I know you do your best, dear, but do try to remember your morfar King Frederik and how he was able to be the rock around which mormor Ingrid and your aunties and I rallied. He was a pillar of strength, finding comfort and respite in his many musical pursuits. Perhaps, darling, you should not have chosen to discontinue your piano lessons as a child. You did disappoint Papa and me with that decision. Cultural pursuits do bring such equilibrium to one’s life. We expected such a move from your brother, but from you, darling Frederik, we did expect so, so much more.

All that of course makes it more understandable why you may have felt that once I announced the engagement that you could actually pretend to love Mary until it actually really happened, but do know that it is your job to help and teach her, not the other way around. I am not dead yet, my darling boy. For all I know, one day the baby will come home when he’s grown and belch at the table or try to crush aluminium cans against his forehead, as you told us you witnessed once during one of your visits to Mary’s family in Australia. No doubt that grotesque behaviour eminated from the family felon; I do hope that ugly business has been resolved and swept under the rug. (Also, I’ve had assurances from the Royal Danish Secret Police and Investigatory Ministry that our jurisdiction does not extend to Tasmanian prosecutorial influence. Tant pis, as your father would say.) Remember, darling, we can only stretch Danish goodwill so far before the “gig is up” as Mary says and our glorious dynasty is, what other expression does she use, “kicked to the curb”. Whatever in the world that may mean although I suspect it predicts our demise. Well, she sorely misjudges the Danish appetite for our royal family. This country will never be republican, they enjoy the show and the bragging rights to our long historic line all too much! Keep Them Blinded by Glitter should have been my sub-motto.

Regarding the flowers, I will hold my breath and pray hard to our bountiful Lord that Kirsten will properly incorporate Mary’s wishes for flowers into a respectable and effective decoration for the church and reception hall. Blue flowers! Honestly, it is January and this is not my first rodeo. That is why I became a bit apprehensive when Mary forcefully interrupted my conversation with the florist. I am still in shock that you tell me she was quite unpleased with the kur gowns I so studiously designed for her. Do try and convey to her, Frederik, how much work I put into our presentation to the world. I understand that she seems to need to assert herself more and more, and in a brilliant stroke of insight, instead of fighting her, I decided that she really should just be allowed to choose her own flowers. The messages in them will be enough symbolism for people to see if, in fact, her little floral venture has been successful. Does she know the phrase, be careful what you wish for? Dearest Frederik, does she really not know that anemone = forsaken, larkspur = fickleness, iris = message, white rose = I am worthy, blue hyacinth = constancy, white hyacinth = I’ll pray for you, forget-me-nots = ditto, white tulips = fame & charity, and buttercup = ingratitude & desire for riches. Well! What a message that our dear girl feels forsaken to the extreme of constantly shouting fickle (and insecure) worthiness with a passive-aggressive promise to pray for us to not forget her while trumpeting her fame, ingratitude and desire for our riches. If only my original design for the christening were to proceed with imperial lilies for majesty, nasturtium sweetly representing patriotism and maternal love, heliotrope to remind Mary of faithfulness to one’s meal ticket, red camellias for excellence which I do wish she would start to strive for, flowering almond for the hope that I often feel is lost and a scattering of oleander since it means beware. Beware beloved Denmark, beware!

Thank you, darling, for at least being amenable regarding the menu. I’m proud of you. As food is not your wife’s forte, she really had no stocky leg to stand on, now did she? I shudder at your recollections of dining chez Donaldson on your visits to them in their natural habitat – no wonder you insisted upon cooking. Papa is so pleased and proud that you have ultimately excelled in one of his areas of interest; you do your French genes proud, darling. Don’t forget the Danish ones, now! At least on your extended tour Australia last year you were able to slip away with your sailing friends and eat in nice restaurants. Papa has heard through his culinary connections that there are actually quite clean and decent ones in that country with actual vegetables and that it’s not all bangers and mashed grub worms swimming in lard with a side of red dirt. I do always have to phone Charles to tease him whenever he pays a visit there – oh, the things those rough outback types make him swallow! It always makes me think of Mary’s little friend Annie and her romantic life. Anyway, it does make one wonder since Mary used to look so cute and healthy even if her clothing did resemble sausage casing? But the entertaining rituals that the Donaldsons employ are quite strange. Do people really fill garbage cans up with beer and ice? Isn’t that completely unsanitary? Why would a reputable caterer do such a thing, and how does the staff distribute to the guests? Honestly, sometimes I am so happy and grateful that the Good Lord blessed me with the honourable burden of being born a royal, a Dane, and a national symbol. There is nothing like living in the safe, white cocoon of beautiful privilege and complete absence of vulgarity, well, at least until your wedding came along. No wonder your Mary chose to purify, bleach, and emaciate herself once out of her former, vile living conditions, and it explains her initial kindness to us. She really did need rescuing, though I dare say her confidante Aimee would have been a much more deserving candidate for our sympathy and makeover money. You two do seem to get along so well.

I agree, of course, that Mary must make sure the baby is getting his proper nutrients, even if, heaven forfend, those Donaldson genes would prevail in the end. In fact, perhaps with proper nutrition, the Donaldson genes will not be so bad. Now that the family is out of Scotland and living in an era of health-consciousness we have less to worry about. Interesting, is it not, that those sisters clearly prioritize gym attendance and look what is has wrought to their bodies. Since the baby is a boy, this has more appropriate implications. I do hope to be blessed one day by a grand-daughter, but I shall have to hope that she is delivered to a future spouse of Joachim’s, since he seems to have a preference for slight, feminine creatures. Much more suitable. (I received such a strange email the other day from your American geneticist. He called later to assure me that it could have been worse, and that the baby would ordinarily have been a girl since you, darling, provided the X chromosome. In other words, if you spurt out a Y with the next child, we will be making medical history, to say the least.) We must, however, be sure to separate Joachim from Mary’s dear Angie during the christening. Benedikte, too, is quite worried and nervous about this girl’s proximity to Gustav, as is Anne-Marie to Nikolas. It’s bad enough that she got mixed up with that Hessen boy, she doesn’t need to be the knobby-kneed seed-catcher to our little family. We’ll have to make sure that we plant plenty of sturdy blond waiters and stable boys and guards near here. That should surely distract her and keep her busy. I’ve instructed Ove to seat her at the table nearest the far corner by the kitchen entry, behind the oleander, as a message to all to tread carefully. Is it possible to require a physical exam of her before she enters Christiansborg and starts eating off our plates and leaving her DNA on the silver? I’ll phone the Australian Ambassador again, he is most amenable in his efforts to ensure me that there are many and better specimens of Australian womanhood. He showed me photos and offered university and professional statistics to back up his argument. Yet, I’ve met quite a few of Mary’s gang in the last couple of years and all I have to say is that I’ll be the judge of that!

Thank you again, of course, dear, for remembering the importance of the character of the baby’s sponsors and not choosing Annette. I know Mary wanted her to take part in the religious upbringing of the baby, but as we are God-fearing, humble Lutherans and she is a husband-grabbing, fame-whore, harsh-faced walking petrie dish and Church of England reject, it really was quite clear that Allison’s influence would not be exactly desirable. I am pleased that you want to honor both aunties Benedikte and Anne-Marie by choosing one of their children each. Gustav and Pavlos are such good boys, even if they have trouble choosing suitable wives, too. Perhaps since you’ve asked Jane Donaldson to be godmother that you might gently suggest to Mary that they have a nice girl’s day at a salon and try for a softer, more feminine look. We don’t want to confuse the reporters into thinking that she is a godfather. She is such a nice girl, though, I do not understand why her father and step-mother are upset about including her as a sponsor and not them. Is Susan still upset that I will not again call the jeweler to lend her something proper and dignified for the christening like I did for the wedding? Have they not been appeased enough with the wonderful, I suppose, work opportunities at the university? Isn’t it bad enough that I’m still having nightmares after sitting across from John and his open kilt at the wedding? Why did they call me a fair dinkum arsehole, and what, pray tell, does that even mean? I will assume for the time being that it means “we are ever so grateful to Your Majesty for the generosity you have shown our sorry, undeserving family and we humbly implore you to accept our thanks and goodwill.” Shudder.

I am pleased, of course, to hear that Mary is taking very good care of her skin now. I am still hearing the sarcastic jokes echo about the addition of her makeover to the wedding costs from the Prime Minister’s office. I believe the Royal Treasury had to sell quite a few bonds just so that our little Tasmanian devil could attempt to roll back the clock on her looks. I had Ove just send them a photograph of her sisters as justification of the costs. Not surprisingly, I never heard another complaint. As shocking as it was to discover that a young woman of her age from such a sunny country had never heard of sunscreen, it is at least reassuring that now that she is armed with the proper knowledge about skin care, she can be careful not to take on the shade of her little barnacle friend Agnes.

See you tomorrow, darling. Do promise me, Frederik, that the names you and your wife have chosen for the baby will do the family proud. Our family, darling. Ours. I’ve been honouring your request for secrecy, please don’t disappoint me and Papa. I’m not anxious to go back on the valium drip until I’m sure that everything will proceed well tomorrow. Also, dear, I’ve just instructed the staff to have some jewels sent over to Mary for her to choose something, of course, only if she sees anything she likes. She should have something new to wear because of the baby. Tell her to please not to share with her friends and family. They are not the contents of a piñata, splayed out for all and sundry to just grab up and do with what they please. Please stress this especially to Susan and Abby. I was very uncomfortable with the way Mary and hers were looking at me during the wedding as if they hadn’t eaten in three days and my jewels were ham sandwiches. That’s hardly the way I responded to her father’s jewels that same day!

Darling, I’m afraid that my next craft project after your tissue holder is finished is a nice cross stitch cummerbund with dancing penguins for Papa. He’s been hinting for one for quite a while now. But you do have a point about little Sverre. I’ve written to Sonja to tell her just how happy I am for her that he is such a handsome and healthy boy, trying not to let my disappointment in my own grandson come through. I’m grateful that she is understanding and does not allow me to feel too much pity about the baby.

Your loving and devoted,


The Geneticist

To: "Client #666's Mother-in-law" henrikshoney @ myspace.dk
From: "Yehudi Geldstein" ilovesesamebagels @ hotmail.com
Date: 19 January 2006

Dear Your Queenship,

Sorry, I'm an American and I'm not up on quaint salutations. Pardon me for writing from my hotmail rather than my professional email, I'm a little unnerved. I know this is going to sound like a cop-out, but I have checked around my colleagues and NO-ONE has ever struck opportunistic genes like the Donaldsons seem to have. Essentially all my gene manipulation work came undone when the Donaldson opportunistic genes scooted around the inserted genetic material at around ten times the normal speed, and overwhelmed it.

Unfortunately, you may well find this same genetic material doing a similar thing to your complete selves, and it is likely, given that Frederik has inherited the slower component of the family set, it has taken some time to notice. I do apologise, because it must have been very difficult for your son to pull hairs from the heads of those various Sverre-linked cousins and second-cousins - with root attached as necessary. It all appears to have been a waste of time. I suspect the Donaldsons have had many, many generations tuning this extraordinary genetic tendency. From my limited perusal of the media the genetic material is very strong indeed.

It also leads to interesting thoughts for research - genes+environment would explain Ms Moody's extraordinary transformation to what appears close to possessing the identical genes. Regrettably, it's now entirely an open book as to how many of the selected genes may have made it through. It is looking so far as though very few have worked. Perhaps next time there won't be coincidental perfect offspring causing comparison. (I was invited to do similar work by another royal house but could tell from a screen dump of a thumbnail that no intervention could possibly achieve anything.)

If it weren't for the screeching from your daughter-in-law I would have got a word in edgewise and suggested to her that they could sell that gene for millions. Your plan to use a youthful nanny as an incubator certainly has merit (and could be fun!). That will also avoid the embarrassment of Frederik turning up to extended family events with tweezers. Pardon me for stepping outside my professional role here, but I am certain from my interactions with the princess that she will happily sacrifice conjugal relations with Frederik if she can remain sample size. Frederik, I'm sure that is no slur on your height or your masculinity. In any case, the genetic testing showed that the princess has enough male genes for both of you, so 'no worries on that score' - I picked up that phrase on my initial assignment for you in Bondi. Sorry I got the house wrong and did the initial profiling I sent you on Kate Fischer!!!!

Yours sincerely,



07 July, 2006

Pre-Christening: Freddums writes Mummy

Den 18. januar 2006

Chère darling Mor,

I do hope that this letter finds you well today. I must say that I enjoyed myself so much the other night with you and Papa as he was giving the kitchens in Fredensborg a good send-off. He must have covered every surface in flour! It does make one feel a tad guilty that Cook will have to have his crew clean up our little mess. But we haven’t all laughed like that since President Bush was in town – such fun! Your laughing was so deep that your smoker’s cough was productive! Well, I’m sure Mary had a good time, in fact I’m sure she wanted me to write and tell you such. Her eye rolling was only because of the flour in the air – you know how sensitive she is ever since the laser resurfacing for hyperpigmentation during her makeover wedding present. And I do want to apologize for it looking like she huffed out of the place back home in anger, but she mentioned something in passing along the lines of trying to deplete her breasts again as a better way to spend an evening, but I’m sure that she just meant that it’s very important to try and bring the baby up to a better weight.

As you well know, she’s been a little hurt by my and Joachim’s baby photos. I suppose that chubby cheeks don’t run in the Donaldson family, so of course, her hurt is understandable. We need to do our best to continue to comfort her and not stir her up. I’m trying very hard to do my best to quietly ensure her that achieving a healthy weight during the next pregnancy is actually beneficial for the baby and not just something that “totally sucks” for her, poor darling. Now, I’m just as scared as you are about these rather, well, hillbilly genes tainting our placid Slesvig-Holsten-Sønderborg-Glucksburg pool, but evidently I made the mistake of pointing to Felipe’s daughter and Haakon’s son as examples to strive for. After the yelling stopped, she tried to call her geneticist in New York to fire him and revoke his license, which I’m not sure you can do just based on puniness, and go back to the doctor in London. I don’t remember what she shouted into the phone to him since my own ears were still ringing and I was feeling around for the bottle of scotch, but I can assure you that he won’t be vacationing in Denmark anytime soon. (Yes, I reminded her that we are THE link to the tourism industry here even though the party line is that we don’t care and are a viable institution that doesn’t come when called. Even Mary doesn’t swallow that one entirely, though, Mor.) Well, as it turned out we just sent out some press releases that the company actually used photos of the baby on their website to divert attention from the real issue. I’m starting to see that Mary’s right, Mor, it really is easy to fool people!

In fact, I was looking forward to a more robust wife, especially after going on a honeymoon with something akin to a bag of bones, which I dare say, is not terribly romantic. (Shall I just quickly mention that it is indeed a blessing that she has that charming Anglo-Saxon diversion to nudity which kept her from pulling a Bettina and providing us all with an entire rib count and pelvic exam in a paparazzi photo. Plus, she’s far too careful with her image, as you well know.) But then, when we weren’t out on the boat, Mary did prefer to lay out on the lanai with magazines and the cell phone (don’t worry, Vogue Australia is no longer on speed dial) and have the staff bring her drinks and new hats every time the headband would start to get a tad sweaty. (You can’t say she isn’t grateful for her makeover! She sure is being careful about protecting her skin now, thankfully. Yes, I did relay to her how important that is to us that she respect our generosity after all we’ve done for her. Please don’t make me do that too often, darling Mor, it is a rather trying conversation to have with her.) I do hope she’ll start becoming acquainted again one day with food, just like she was when I first met her. It’s strange, even though I was physically attracted to her when I didn’t see her as more than a toss-away girl, now that you’ve forced us together, she becomes skeletal. It’s like my proximity makes her not want to eat. Well, clavicle chic was never my bag, but we do have to try for another child eventually, so I guess I’ll just have to grit my teeth and proceed. Maybe I can use a blindfold and pretend that I’m trying to spice things up.

All this obsession with looks brings me to a rather sensitive subject. Er, um…well, I know we’re almost used to it now, but remember your reaction the first time meeting the Donaldsons? I still remember mine, and I know we reacted the same way. We won’t ever forget a shock like that, now will we? (Normally, I fear for Papa’s reaction, but as the Donaldson’s only speak English, his “Mon dieu, quel horreur!” was blissfully ignored. So maybe you’re not correct that education is everything!) Even you admitted you may not have been so quick to engage us at the Caix press conference in August 2003 – boy, did you have me in a panic then just as you were in a panic once you’d realized what you’d done to the future of the dynasty!

Now, even given that fluoride and the dental arts apparently were not available in Scotland before he left, it still is quite a surprise I do realize. I’ve reminded them that your excuse is that you smoke like a Texas barbeque. What, pray tell, is theirs? And then there are Mary’s poor sisters. (By the way, the one you think looks like an emu is actually her sister-in-law – that should make you feel better!) Although your quip about them showing genes that could rival a Viking’s actually touched a nerve, and contrary to what one would expect, they agree! Well, the other day all this came up while I was cooking dinner for John, Susan, Jane, Amber and Mary (I must say it is very complimentary how they like my cooking, and quite odd that none of them claim to even be able to boil water when I’m around. Oh, and don’t worry, that scary boyfriend of Amber’s isn’t staying here at the house, too. When I asked if he still had business to attend to in London, I was met with a bursting laughter and a reassuring “uh, yeah, that’s it”. He does seem to be a dedicated chap, I must say). I suppose they’d all been drinking quite a bit and, as is their habit, getting quite loud when the conversation took an unfortunate, but not surprising turn as they declared their “Scot Highland” genes as far superior to ours. Stop laughing, Mor, I can just hear you now! Really, it was a frightful turn in the evening. Now when I get blotto with Bendt, Jeppe, Holger and Nanoq’s crew, we are at the least still able to keep our saliva intact and not wont to picking fights, as you and Papa have explained well to me and Joachim as vulgar and undignified behavior.

They all started yelling about some chap named Rob Roy being better than "some asshole named Gorm” and then arm-wrestling each other. They have an interesting Highland yodel, I suppose is the best way to describe it – it must be a necessary call to arms when family pride feels offended. It was all I could do to remind them that I had a kitchen to attend to (now you know why I insist on cooking). Amber and Jane were on the table with their drinks arguing about whether it was better to be forced into having sexual relations with a plumber or a multi-millionaire hotel and pub owner. They were actually pointing their fingers into each other’s shoulders. It was all so strange and grotesque, and as Mary says, it is all so “bogan”. But I’ll tell you, when the cameras aren’t around, my wife can roll with the best of them. I’ll admit to being a bit turned on by it, after all, this is the gal I fell in love with, ol’ “Iron Thighs”, as I call her. It certainly is a pickle you put me in Mor, I love my Mary (doesn’t she remind you of Nanny MacGillicuddy, too!?), but sometimes I am evidently not enough for her, which of course makes me terribly sad. Plus, she really is a very stocky girl, isn’t she? Doctor Freudenborg has been telling me during our weekly sessions that I never noticed Mary’s stockiness and demanding nature due to her uncultured insecurity because pheromones get in the way of perception early in an affair. Also, given my unnatural devotion to Nanny since you were busy with other things when I was young, I was a bit blind-sided, I suppose one would say, by what I perceived as inner strength. Honestly, I had assumed all along that Mary was the backbone I was missing, as she does have many masculine traits I lack, and while she most certainly does have brass ones (Per will be the first to agree with that!), she’s not exactly the nurturing type. Nor the forgiving type. Nor the understanding type. Nor the comforting type. Nor the inspiring type. She’s the hard place to my rock. I always wanted to be someone’s rock, but I figured it would be to a sweet girl who had deep integrity, a sense of self and tradition, and a cultured background that could gently buttress me in my duty toward Denmark. Now I have to inspire myself, and I will be the first to admit that it is a rather difficult thing when one has such a nice sailboat, wonderful friends with expansive estate homes, and a black Amex to instead try to focus on teaching at the academy or knuckling down and doing “work” and getting “exposure”. I can start to see now, with the doctor’s help, that Mary may not be the ideal personality to lead me out of this hedonistic pit I’ll admit we both enjoy so terribly much. Sometimes I feel I should have done as Felipe and Haakon did and brought home a nice local girl who would understand the culture and know what expectations there are of her and who would have birthed us a nice, fat heir. After all, after the shock of Papa being French, you actually set the country up to want a Danish girl as queen, didn’t you? Oh, je t’aime, Papa!

I do, however, welcome these family diversions for her, especially since she’s been feeling so down lately. She wasn’t as enthused by the floral mustard and eggplant colored jacket dress you picked out for her as she was by the blue costume from the Royal Theatre for the first kur. Maybe she’s more attuned to Victorian Orientalism than we originally thought. She did after all ask for your help in turning that gorgeous sari into a cute, Western saloon lady dress. I’m sure she knows she’s lucky her mother-in-law designs theatre costumes! But I suppose it was sad for her not to be able to wear the tiara again, she does love it so (what a sight to see her jump up and down, howling something about "outdoing the bogans" and "the eastern suburbs are my bitches", whenever we bring out Mormor’s rubies), although I’ve told her that technically we cannot call her Her Majesty until your passing. Well, the quiet pout that ensued is better than the usual yelling session, wouldn’t you agree?

As for Mary’s kur, please have my assurances that it was Lis our press agent who made such an egregious error. I’m sure my dear wife would never have asked the press to show up only to close the door on them. Actually, if I’m sure of anything in this life, it is that my wife would not lock out the press. You were correct, Mor, that the press AND the Donaldsons AND Amber cannot be at an official court function, absolutely. I could not imagine the photos that could emerge from such a combustible guest list. Yes, Mary has spoken to Amber about carousing on public mattresses with skinned knees and the bridesmaid’s outfit you designed and paid for. Don’t worry. She threatened to have it dyed another colour, but I do think she was kidding. Yes, I’m sure of it. Just as she promised that her new boyfriend would not crash the christening. Hm, on second thought, maybe I’ll just double check with her that she wasn’t kidding on that last one.

I do want to thank you again, and on Mary’s behalf, too, for all of your wonderful organisational expertise for the christening. As you know, Mary and I are quite incapable of pulling off such a show, as I like to relate more to the common man with ill-fitting suits and "down-with-it" street cred, and Mary is a common man, er, well, woman, of course. Oh who’s kidding, MAN. But at any rate, what would we do without you? And I do thank you, too, for allowing so many godparents for the baby. Mary really does have an inferiority complex, as you can well imagine and unfortunately have seen manifest, and it seems that she and Pavlos’s wife will be competing in the Rag Tag Commoners Pretending They’re Really Super Cool Through Their Child’s Godparents Roster contest. Pavlos and I can only roll our eyes, but in the end, he grants his beloved wife’s wishes and I do the same to my wife, if only to keep the peace at home. In that regard, thank you ever so much, dearest Mor, for acquiescing to Mary’s wishes regarding the flowers. I guess we’ll just have to see how it all comes off on Saturday. That poor, scared florist! You’d think he’d be used to her now since he supplied her with fresh orchids every week when she was living in her flat in Langelinie. Mary’s time now is thankfully busy choosing a new outfit for the celebrations. Oh, the number of samples that designers have sent over! I’m trying to steer her clear of strange, fluffy, feathery, hat thingies, but we’ll see if she listens to me. I’m not in good standing right now, as always.

Oh, if you are needing a new craft project once you finish your latest decoupage tissue holder for me, the baby could use some new booties. Perhaps you could make them a little longer than would fit him normally? You see, as demonstrated in Mary’s Christmas card that Ziggy and I got to be in, we had to resort to digitally manipulating the baby’s proportions in order to elongate Mary’s hands, which I’m sure you’ll agree was the best thing to happen to her little hams. But now Mary’s very worried that he’s not going to have most people’s attention at the christening since Sverre is coming (I know, isn’t he something! Now, HE could take on a Donaldson with his two month old pinky and win) and will make the baby look even smaller and punier. And Mary would prefer cashmere with mink trim this time.

Thank you ever so much, dearest Mor.

Your loving and devoted son,

Mary to Amber: the christening

Til: “Amber Petty” skinnedknees @ skanksnet.com.au
Fra: “Kronprinsessen” rugbyboysrule @ kissmyass.dk
30 December 2005
SV: Hey

So, did I tell you about the latest bullshit? I was reading in a magazine that that Norwegian FREAK of a couple wants to bring their chubby-cheeked, well-fed kids to MY kid’s baptism?! Can you FREAKING believe that? GOD. Then everyone of the damn photographers will be taking pictures of THEIR kids since they’re all cute and everything and that peroxide mother of theirs will try ONCE AGAIN to STEAL MY THUNDER. You should have seen the pathetic, grotesque looker me photos of her with the Rottweiler in London. She’s a jealous DRUG-ADDICT, hello! (Oh, sorry, Amber – well, she does at least prove that you can be functioning.) And have you ever tried talking to HIM!? GOD. He’s almost worse to understand than Fred, you should have seen me when they were here for lunch last month (I wore that totally unflattering Prada huge-red-rose military hemmed top – righteous!) trying to lean in all polite like, um, ok, repeat that AGAIN, please. It better NOT be true, or Fred is SO in for it, as if he couldn’t be in deeper. JESUS. Did you see that plaid skirt I wore to church for Christmas with the Chimney-In-Laws? I am SO MAD at him. I asked him to prep my clothes for the service while I took a bath since we had to let the staff off for the holiday (labour laws, time with family, blah blah, FINE OK LEAVE US HANGING THEN GOD) and what does he do but lay out the plaid skirt with black top and black boots. Which is fine, except that now I have this damn old lady JOEY POUCH derriere on my front side as if I’ve had kids. Oh. Well, crap, it’s like HELLO you can’t wear plaid on a curve and have it be flattering. GOD. Plus, the black on top and and the bottom just contributed to me looking CUT IN HALF and not having a lean line. Then Anja called and totally reminded me that just like with so much that she’s having me wear, that unflattering is the key and you have to keep people guessing by making sure your style is all over the map. I LOVE her. At least SOMEBODY in my life is doing me a freaking favour.

OK, so like the baptism. Um, look Amb, you know I love you to pieces and you’re like the only one in my life I love, for reals, right? OK, so they’ve been giving me lots of crap and here’s the deal. You can totally come. But you have to come without Mark (and without wearing the bridesmaid’s jacket even in a NEW, CUTE, HOT way – besides fushcia and beef jerky-brown aren’t really a great colour combo). Ok? Look, I’m really glad that you’re like, in love, or whatever, but seriously, he is just not who one wants to have at one’s ROYAL baptism. Ok? My kids are going to be ROYAL, Amber, you’ve got to just deal with that. I just can’t be hanging out with you and Jade’s kids at least until the divorce goes through. They are getting divorced, aren’t they? And even then, not in Denmark because of that whole stupid Bandidos thing, I don’t know, it all had to be explained to me by Per (don’t you think he looks Chinese? Haha.) Look, I’m sure he’s great, and at least he’s rolling in dough, I am VERY happy for you on that front (why don’t you take his credit card and get something really CLASSY and expensive to wear!? Oh, and NEW and not secondhand? OK?) but, look, I’ve got people to show up, OK? NOBODY gets to STEAL MY THUNDER this time! True, I don’t have to worry about Monster Chin, she’s dating some meathead who owns a gym, HELLO, do they not have used car dealers in Sweden? Then, at least you can speed in style. But that snippy, constipated Berleburg cousin and her doofus husband will be there and I’ve got to keep pretending to like them – I think I can get a new horse out of that family if I play my cards right. (Can you imagine they like in Paris – voluntarily!? WHATEVER.) I’m still trying to keep the Greeks away. God they bother me. Talk about people being the CENTER OF THEIR OWN UNIVERSE – GET A LIFE! Oh, speaking of Marie Chantal, if you don’t mind, if you’re going to come, could you also, like, DYE YOUR ROOTS? GOD, I’m sorry, but HELLO!

But before the baptism (they keep calling it a christening or name-giving ceremony, whatever, like, hello I’ve been calling him his name ever since we brought him home even if it’s NOT THE NAME YOU’LL LET ME HAVE – as if anything is wrong with Kevyn Shayne Dylan Keith. GOD.) I at least get to ROCK THE HOUSE for New Year’s at my OWN – yeah, baby – PARTY. They were all like their usual cold, weird selves about me and New Year’s and everything, then all of a sudden, it’s like a miracle, like they were hearing me all along, Chinese Per told me that they decided that it’d be great for me to have my OWN NEW YEAR’S PARTY! Oh my GOD. Just like back in Australia, except with full lead crystal cups, baby, no more plastic – and GOOD booze! Except, here’s the deal, I have to invite all these groups I’m supposed to be working with. Can you IMAGINE? Only a couple of them are fashion. Like, the MENTAL ILLNESS people have to come. WHATEVER. They’ll come and make me look good and hardworking and like I care and stuff. Isn’t that all awesome? I am going to be the ONLY host to this party. I was all, Fred, did you hear, and he was all like, a few years ago blah blah Papa blah blah feed the beast blah blah. I swear I only get HALF of what he’s saying. But anyway, just check out what I’m going to wear – it’ll be NEW. Let me know if you like it. Except for this goddamn joey pouch, I’ve really lost weight. It must drop off when you quit breast-feeding. (Two months is just TOO long!) Try and see if you can get the photos printed in New Idea or Women’s Day. You ARE still working for them, right!? Don’t tell me you’ve blown it. I need the publicity back home for the next trip. You BETTER come through.

Grr, there’s one TINY matter I can only talk to YOU about so you gotta keep it under your fascinator, OK? My SISTERS. OK well you know how we had this deal going that I’d keep those bitches in style if they all pretend we’re always been a BIG, HAPPY clan (WHATEVER!) from here on in, well, it’s getting a little pricey. Managed to skeev POP and even Susan off onto the university, but the girls don't wanna WORK. Patty’s all like Scott says NOBODY would be a plumber if they didn’t HAVE to be and we don’t HAVE to be – well, DUH, who the hell WOULD be a plumber? WHATEVER. And Jane’s been here like for nearly THREE months – um, would you like to pay RENT anytime, or would you rather remember you have CHILDREN in TASMANIA on the OTHER FREAKING SIDE OF THE PLANET? And there’s this HUGE bigger problem, Amb, and I need your advice. Like, here I am looking FABULOUS so long as there’s a reflector over me, but there are all these photos all over the place of my ugly sisters and GOD do they look OLD. I mean it Amb, older than YOU do. It reflects on me. I don’t care how old YOU look – actually that’s GOOD (sorry, it’s true), but if my sisters look like elephant hide, it makes MY GENES look bad and I wanna blame the baby’s faults on those freaking INBREDS. What do I do? My makeover cost, especially the laser resurfacing for hyperpigmentation, was basically counted as part of the wedding cost – that’s why the wedding was so freaking expensive, you don’t think those hideous heart-flower SCULPTURE-THINGIES were anything but bogan cheap do you? (That’s another story, I revisited the damn flower pictures and they were CHEAP, I’m really pissed off about that. Don’t they think I’m worth expensive flowers like DIANA GOT? When I was living in the flat on Langelinie I made DAMN SURE Fred paid for fresh orchids EVERY WEEK!) Anyway I told Fred I want my sisters done too and the fool said no. What a NERVE! I’m just afraid I’ll have to end up going down on him longer than I originally hoped. GOD, my jaw hurts just thinking about it.
Anyway, that’s why I put him in the dogbasket in the Chrissy card pix hahaha, he didn’t notice since he’s dumber than ZIGGY. Well Ziggy isn’t dumb, Ziggy’s bright for a dog. GOD, I cannot believe I let Fred talk me into a BORDER COLLIE. Could anything be more HYPER? Stop HERDING ME! NOBODY tells me where to go and what to do. WHATEVER! Plus, they needed to be in the back of the pic. EXCUSE ME, but who just popped out the kid, future of the empire blah blah? ME, THAT’S WHO! So, pardon ME! HA! The only thing really weird was that we had to have the cards printed in three languages. I have NO idea what kind of weird freak of a language we also had to put there, but WHATEVER, as long as no one around here is going to make me learn ANOTHER one. As if it wasn’t a pain in the ASS already to learn theirs. And as if I use it! JESUS.

Hey get this, check out the clever card photo one more time, Ambs – they are so brill with the photoshop I got my hands elongated AND the baby SHORTENED and made even SMALLER! (Well, I guess he IS that puny looking actually. I HATE breastfeeding – I swear it’s so UNNATURAL. But it’s too bad they couldn’t get rid of his pudgy Donaldson nose.) All that re-working of the baby makes my hands look even longer. I can’t help having fat little hams, and GOD it’s tiring hiding them from woeful Fred. He’s looking smaller and paler all the time. I’m always like ok, step away from the bottle, Fred, GOD. I’m under orders from my advisers (my new reps in Sydney, not Chinese Per) to always look more wan and pale than Fred, in case it looks as though HE’s doing any being-a-daddy type work. So I can get the kudos. My GOD can I get any whiter?! But my reps say it’ll help my Saint Diana/Mother Teresa image. I do look like a freaking CORPSE, but that’s cause Fred looks like some hot bitch dragged him through the cess pits of Calcutta backwards and then through a hedge and dumped him in his own puddle, where he can look at MY reflection, THANK YOU, cause that’s where he’d be if he did get busy with some hot bitch! GOD.

And here’s a little advice, Amb - you know what I’ve realized after all this time? That you only have to pretend to enjoy fellatio (that’s the classy word for it) until you get The Ring. Then you can start bossing them around! Isn’t that killer? Try it with Mark, I’ll be it’ll work. Jade probably stopped doing it and got all wrapped up in her kids. WHATEVER. You CANNOT take your eye off the ball or they will notice and not let you boss them around! I mean it, Ambs. Anyway, I gotta do the fellatio thing for another year or so. Patty’ll take ages to fix up. Sorry, Ambs, you’re way down the queue. Hell, I’m a bit worried that once it gets down to you, MY REAL RING will be what’s at stake! Not up for that, now that I’m a princess. Marriage changed EVERYTHING. GOD Fred's gullible! Now to break him down for the sissies’ plastic surgery. Everything is always on MY shoulders!

Happy Freaking New Year to Me!


PS. Don’t forget to get an appointment at the colourist. You CANNOT embarrass me, ok? I MEAN it! Or else you will find the royal bouncer does NOT have your name on his magic list. Ta!

Amber's response

To: “Princess Mary” rugbyboysrule @ kissmyass.dk
From: “Amber Petty” skinnedknees @ skanksnet.com.au
8 December 2005
Re: Hey

Hey babe, what’s going on? Nothing here.

Oh my god, we did it!! Did I tell you?! Me and Mark. We just totally came out and officially confirmed that we’re a couple! Isn’t it kind of like totally incredible to like deal with the press? It just feels right, you know, and like my destiny, too. Oh my god, Mary, it feels so good to be free with our love, you know? I mean, it is just so hard to like hide your love and everything, you know all about that. You had to do it with Fredrik and it sucked, I so totally remember. Oh my god, remember that time I almost blurted out to him how much you thought you and him were like Romeo and Juliette and like, totally destined to be together? It was so romantic and I almost wanted to cry for you I was so happy but you were all like SHUT UP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? TOO EARLY while moving your finger across your neck a bajillion times and looking like you were going to kill me! It was kind of funny, but no, really, I still feel so bad about that, but you were right all along, cuz look you have this baby together and you are like famous and rich and have the best clothes of anyone!!! Is anything better than that?

But anyway, back to me and Mark. He’s just like the most amazing man!!!! Can you believe I got Mark Freaking Alexander-Erber!!!! It has made all that bullshit walking the red carpet alone posing with no one but faggots and idiots like Renee Geyer all worth it (can you believe that bitch Linda Gavin actually thinks she looks younger than me!?!?!?) Even that tranny bitch Courtney Act is all damn, I wish I were a real girl. Oh my god, I so love that his last name is hyphenated. THAT is class, baby! Pubboy is really taking off and he has SO many new hotels coming (you and Fredrik have got to stay in one of them next time you will love it!!) and oh, you would love this cuz it’s so like what you’ve always said, he’s starting to do all this branding cuz he said something about most people are dumb enough to buy anything and he wants his life moto to be his trademark and so the t-shirts say *uck it Baby Roll the Dice. Isn’t that amazing!?!?!? He says it keeps him rolling in it!! Haha!! GOOD!! I will totally make sure you and Fredrik get some t-shirts, ok? Too bad they don’t make baby sizes!! Haha!! He’s such an exciting man and baby, my credibility is UP!!! It’s about time. He really nows how to live and he totally rocks my world and everyone totally like bows down to him. We go for rides on his motorcycle all the time and everyone looks at us and totally check us out!! He reminds me so much of you, Mary, cuz your both like these geniuses when it comes to making things happen and cuz he also has this amazing power of being successful because he totally believes in himself. He says he trains his subconscious. I told him that you too were probably separated at birth or something cuz you are like the same way!! Isn’t that freaky? He also says degrees are ok, but living life is where the real lessons come from! I love that!! Just like your degree never came in handy, either!!!

And the best part (for me!!!) is that he is just like Fredrik – he has money coming out of his ass!!! Thank God. Mary, I know we totally talked about how we where going to totally marry only men who totally respected us and had money and we did it!!! We deserve this and should not feel bad about it one little bit!!!! We are just so blessed. You and Fredrik have got to use him whenever you do your concert thing down here. Remember, we are so totally about helping you with that Pakisten thing (what is that for, anyway???) that your doing. Mark’s Witness Protection Entertainment could totally produce a rocking show for you!! Are you sure it still has to be for charity? It’s just that it would be more fun if it didn’t have to be. That way you don’t have to worry about band reputations and hoping that there is a little money left over for sick kids or whatever. Like last year when you raised a couple thou for the Red Cross. Although at least it got me on their board. Nothing else was making that happen! People can be rude, can’t they? I know your getting that a lot more of that these days. Well, so am I. People are jealous!!!!! Like that bitch Moira from BigLittleMusic always looked down her nose at me, but no more!!! We could totally get like Mikelango and Black Sea Gentlemen. There going to totally run from their agent and over to us in a heartbeat. They now were the smart representation is!!!! And Linda Gavin is going to have start kissing my ass!!! Haha. Livia Rose and Biftek are so totally going to be green with envy at my new superstardom with WPE. I love you, Mark!!!!

Of course Jane is spitting mad. But that’s her own fault. Mark told me what a freak she has become. It’s been ever since she became a mother. You’ve totally got to be careful, Mary!!!! Mark swears she used to be cool, and I know that you guys know each other, (I guess it’s pretty cool that you introduced me to her because now her husband is like my dream) but now that she has kids she has turned into a monster. Mark says she wouldn’t let him do anything, ever!!! He could never just go out and have a night out with the guys. And she would yell at him for coming home late when he was working in the evenings and on weekend nights and call him selfish – as if!! Who’s making sure she can shop all she wants? Oh my god, can you imagine? What is it with some women? They can be such total over-protective bitches!! She would make him like play with the baby and feed him – when he had to leave and go to work at night. It just makes me so sad for him. I just want to love him and give him a big, big hug then when he stops being sad, I’d want to make him really really happy and unzip his pants and pretend to wonder if he wants it. Oh my god, I’ve never been with anybody who loves it like he does!! But I’ve got to try to get him to stop holding my head down. It sucks! (Hahahaha). But it’s not as bad as that time that one guy made me go get my teeth contoured because he thought they were scraping him too much. Oh my god, whatever!!

I swear, Jane better get her crap together and soon. Do you still know her enough to tell her to stop it and get a grip? Maybe your secretary can do that? Please? Think about it cuz I could really use your help. It’s not enough that I call her up at her real estate office at Ray White and hang up when she answers. I can no longer be safe out there with all those jealous bitches in every freaking bar in Sydney who are not afraid to go all kung fu on me. I don’t even know who hit me, it was that hard and they just came up from behind. I’ll bet it was either that bitch Jackie O (her radio station is around the corner, isn’t it?) or Gretel Killeen. Bitches! That idiot barmaid Breeannah was all oh, can I help you and I’m all um, yeah, stop that bitch from hitting me, oh too late!!!!! Sometimes it is like everyone is out to get me. You get that feeling too sometimes, right? The whole world is jealous, Mary. They cannot take people who are beautiful and smart and famous and better than them. It is just a FACT. We have a lot to deal with, don’t we?

The good news!!! We’re coming to see you!!! I want to be in town for the baptism. That’s cool, right? We could stay in that upstairs suite, unless your family is using it, then we could take one of the downstairs rooms. Or maybe your family could take the downstairs rooms? Whatever. I can not wait to see you!! And for you to meet Mark!! And for Fredrik to meet him. It’s going to be so nice to all go out as two couples, you and me with our awesome (rich!!) men! Hey, maybe you and Fredrik can take us to that amazing club in Copenhagen one night? It’s not that far a drive and it would be so fun!!

So are you going to get that Norwegian guy know that you now that he didn’t name his kid the wrong name? What the hell kind of name did he give his kid, anyway? Oh my god, as if anyone on the planet can pronounce that. And what’s with Magnus? Have to tell the world you’ve got a big one? Whatever, if you’re that desparate!! Haha.

Please please please DO NOT ask Phillip to be godfather. Oh my god, that would be so totally embarrassing for me! I cannot see him again. He was so uncool to me after Thailand, which is weird because when we were there, he was all like you are so awesome and beautiful and I want you to do me all night. Oh my god, it was so romantic. It was such a total dream. I really thought that maybe we were going to go the whole way together, you now, like you and Fredrik. I LOVE the sound of Princess Amber don’t you!!!??. Then he had to go and get all freaky and cold and pretend to not know me after!! Whatever he had a tiny wing-wang anyway. That bitch of a girlfriend of his was so like stay the hell away from him you crazy bitch – even though she ended up moving out. Can you say the kettle calling the black pot? Hello! Plus, I think Mark would totally like take him out back, anyway and really show him how a gentleman treats a proper lady and that would just not be cool with a baby around, I now, don’t worry. Mark totally knows how to act around kids – he has two now remember? The little one is the same age as yours!!! Isn’t that awesome? Maybe they can play together when you come back. Wouldn’t that be just perfect, Mary, here we are with our babies (well, my step-babies!!) playing and our men drinking beer and riding motorcycles and we’re talking and feeding our babies. But definitely make sure Gustav is there!! I want to make him jealous with my new man and show him what a loser he is for not going for it with me. Is Fredrik’s cousin Niklas (however you spell that!) still available? Since he didn’t go for it with you, you wouldn’t mind if I tease him with Mark would you? I’m telling you, I am soooooo proud of my man!! (Can you tell!!!!)

Oh, I got the baby photos you sent yesterday. Don’t worry, it’s just a weird angle and probably really crappy liteing. NOBODY’s nose can survive that kind of strait on close-up. And I’m sure he’ll grow out of it and become really really cute!! :- )

Bye!! Write soon!!!


Mary's first email to Amber

Til: "Amber Petty" skinnedknees @ skanksnet.com.au
Fra: "Kronprinsessen" rugbyboysrule @ kissmyass.dk
4 December 2005
SV: Hey

HEY. Well, the bub’s asleep so I can finally grab some time. Oh my God, you remember our cook, right? You thought he was kind of hot, I swear I don’t get that, but whatever, he’s all trying to make me eat these large, “healthy” (yeah, whatever) meals to “keep up my strength” or something and I’m all like HELLO, got weight to lose just give me a damn melon slice and a cracker, who pays you? Men are so bloody CLUELESS sometimes.

Anyway. Did you hear? That Norwegian bitch just had a baby. This one isn’t going to be king, though, cause they’ve got a different system up there and so that bald kid of their’s gets to be queen. That is why I am SO GLAD we had a BOY so that there is NO QUESTION. He already looks SO much like Daddy and not these inbreds, thank GOD. Anyway, they didn’t announce the name though and I SWEAR it better not be Kristian. Oh if it is, I swear that crazy drug-addicted, dyed-blonde FREAK is in for it. I’ve convinced Fred to not ask Haakon to be godfather until they announce their kid’s name because if it is Kristian, then Haakon has SO lost his last chance to be my husband’s best friend which is fine by me because that show-off witch of a wife of his always wants to STEAL MY THUNDER, like when she went to the Rottweiler’s wedding and showed off all la-di-da I’m a Scandinavian princess looker me looker me. I’m so glad that Fred went away like I told him (I swear he was almost harder to break than my HORSE). Was that not a killer excuse to not go, I mean really, who would ever doubt that going to Greenland could be anything but “meaningful” and “important”. Haha. Because NO WAY was I going to that wedding! I am so much better than having to attend a lousy boring second wedding that isn’t even really a wedding, hello. You are such a bitch to think that I was too insecure to be with them. Are you freaking KIDDING me? Don’t throw that shit my way ever again.

At least my kid isn’t yellow anymore. Thank God. I mean, how bad is that? I just about punched Dad I was getting so tired of the jokes. And that looker me BITCH in Spain had to have had her kid airbrushed to death I mean NO BABY comes out looking that good. It is impossible! It’s like she wanted once again to STEAL MY THUNDER and NO WAY am I putting up with that. I told Fred that no way is Felipe going to be godfather, but of course I did it all nice and all like, well he is Catholic honey, so maybe it’s better not to ask him. He totally bought it. I give her props for staying hidden for a week before being photographed though – she needs that time to be put together haha. I looked SO much better, don’t you think? I was so going for the casual barrette thing to make it look like I don’t give a rat’s ass and they BOUGHT IT. Ha. I told Søren to go gentle on the flat iron so it wouldn’t look too “done” and later we laughed like hyenas about pulling the wool over people’s eyes, you should have seen us. That idiot Bodil Cath will believe ANYTHING. Anja brought me that super awesome dark coat that looks Chanel and was all wear it with black stockings since you’ll be standing long enough and you can do the T and it’ll make your legs look SO GOOD and everyone will be all oh my god she’s so HOT right after giving birth which stirs up all those erotic virgin mama-whore feelings in men or something like that. You know what? She was RIGHT!

Speaking of Søren, did I tell you he called his friend Ole to come over? He mumbled something about needing “serious intervention” after he saw the photos of us coming home with the spud. Ole is HUGE in Hollywood – he’s even done KIDMAN - and he’s this amazing beauty guru and came over to talk to me about even MORE things I could do to look pretty. I swear to God, and you BETTER not tell this to ANYONE, but I am starting to channel Patty like Fred’s been channeling drunk crazy people with bad toothaches lately. It totally FREAKS ME OUT. I mean I love her and everything, but let’s get real, she’s a little harsh looking to say the least and it scares the CRAP out of me, the very idea of looking like my family. I mean, our genes are great, but well, Daddy didn’t have the best ideas about personal hygeine, so it’s not like it’s not PREVENTABLE, but STILL. So we talked about how ok, the laser resurfacing was like a really good start like the restylane and now there is this crazy expensive cream that has like – don’t gag – human placenta in it and seaweed or something like that and it’s what all these crazy Italian aristocrats use and it’s super RARE and I’m all like, will it work, and they’re like, honey, please. So I’m all like, ok, sign me up but it BETTER WORK. It’s supposed to like plump up wrinkles and lines, not like I really have any but better to start before they come, right? And there’s this other thing, I think it’s like $200 an ounce or something, SO expensive, but it’s to protect me from any more sun spots and freckles and tanned like a COW’S HIDE because I can SO not go down that ugly road anymore, you know? Oh, sorry, but you know what I mean. You don’t look that bad at all. Really. J

Hey, what the HELL is the deal with Becs and this baby she just had? And what is this BULLSHIT about some Hewitt spawn getting busy with my kid?! WHATEVER! As if THAT baby’s going to learn any manners. GOD. I might MAYBE allow Bec to be seen with me next visit, but I SWEAR you’ve got to tell her no more stupid stuff like Hewitt. She needs to get her shit together and start acting like a LADY if she thinks she can snag an invite to our next Aussie party. I don’t do bogan anymore, I’ve been REAL clear on that. Tell her! I mean it, Am. Otherwise, the deal is OFF.

Speaking of coming back, do you have any news yet? What is the DEAL? We’d put out some small PR here, but nobody’s biting. What’s going on down there? You’re not slacking off, are you? Haha, sorry, but really, please try to HURRY and let us know what’s going on because if Markson’s going to be involved, then we’ve got to get him in quick and make sure we can pay his fees (can you freaking BELIEVE what he wants?) and we’ve got to have time for Jayson to design our dresses (are you still in for that, too?). Make sure he’s still just doing it for the publicity. I am worried that we will NOT be able to pay those stupid prices AND still have everything up to standards. Remember how that one guest bit into his shrimp appetizer and like the SHELL was still on it? I was so ready to KILL or FIRE that stupid chef. Oh, and tell that bitch Kate and whoever the hell she’s sleeping with that they are so NOT invited to any party we’re at. That idiot stepped on my dress and nearly ripped it last time. I was FUMING, but you know me, I totally looked like I was keeping my cool. Plus, I hate her anyway because her legs are longer than mine. Christ, maybe we should just go back to Plan A and do the concert thing and keep it more casual. Then we could dress up so that bitch Kylie knows who the real ROCK STAR is.

Did you hear about my cousin’s FREAK of a husband? What an idiot. He gets busted for diddling some under age slut and now will probably have to go to JAIL, can you imagine my embarrassment? And now my cousin Jackie is all oh my God Mary it’s awful and she wants to get together either there or here for “moral support” or something, yeah right, AS IF! You know me, I so want to give her such a big HUG, but you know, it’s just not the right idea. I cannot risk my publicity to be seen with a RAPIST LOVER. Hello. Some people just have no clue. Like when Fred – I told you this, right – was all ok to Andrew Denton about doing some cheap radio promo spot and I was all HELLO Clueless! Can you spell class? Evidently NOT. I am the one who needs to field the marketing questions. GOD.

Did I tell you? We have to have Christmas with the queen and Frenchy again this year. Grrrr. This is going to get old FAST. I swear if they smoke around me and my kid anymore I’m going to LOSE IT. They are freaking CHIMNEYS. At least my family’s around so that we can slip out early and have a decent, relaxed time. Except that Christmas and the cold DO NOT go together! I’m telling you it SUCKS! I so wish you and I could go out to Bondi together in army shorts (why do people say they’re manly, are they insane?) and sunnies (gotta protect the investment, Fred is ALWAYS bitching about the cost) and find a good terrace to sit on and just relax and pretend not to notice when people recognize us. HA. I’ll let you know if Fred actually gets me the jewelry I picked out for the baby’s birth. He’d BETTER! Ha. Did you know that? It’s what rich people do – give the woman jewelry when she pops out a kid. Doesn’t that ROCK? I figure I’ve got 10 good years left. Problem is I so do NOT have the mommy instinct. GOD. Grow up already, kid!

Did I tell you the good news? I’ll be at these New Years Eve celebrations that they throw here and I get to dress up full stop, I am so gonna ROCK THE HOUSE in my skinny body and jewels. Yup, I get to wear the tiara, baby! People are going to freaking EAT ME UP. Billed Bladet should PAY me. I LOVE that the slow people get a regular dose of me every few months. It keeps me flying high and in their faces. They cannot get enough of me. Boom, wedding! Boom, tour that country (Denmark)! Boom, tour our country! Boom, get pregnant! Boom, have the baby! Boom, rock the house on New Years and then is the christening for more show!

Oh, by the way, I have to tell you that I am SO sorry that you won’t be a godmother. I really am sorry. I fought hard for you and I swear I thought maybe at one point they were about to cave, but JESUS, I have rarely been fought so hard by them. Something about continuing tradition and maintaining integrity, blah blah, I don’t even know, so I’m really sorry. Maybe next time? But I CANNOT make promises. They made me swear to that. God they can be tightasses sometimes. I was all like ok, fine, WHATEVER. I’m pushing for Gustav (do you still think he’s cute – he’s still totally available you should GO FOR IT) and the Swedish girl. Remember her? You call her Monster Chin. Ha! But she really is super sweet and we need at least one title showing up. I cannot STAND most of them. They are all FREAKS who have this insatiable need to SHOW OFF and STEAL PEOPLE’S THUNDER, like WHATEVER!

Hey thanks for sending me that Emma Tom book about me. God, she sure does think she wrote a good one, but boy did she get it WRONG! Ha. What the hell about that part with that bloke for hire going through my TRASH – what the? That SO pisses me off. Why would ANYBODY do such a thing? I mean, my God, is nothing sacred? Can a person just not throw away her trash anymore with out the freaking CIA coming in? Jesus. So what I threw away a letter from my grandmother. Hello, she’s DEAD. And Miss Emma just has NO CLUE about how Fred and I hooked up. None. HA! And THANK GOD about her not knowing anything about Niklas or however you spell it. Oh my GOD did I dodge a bullet with that. It’s bad enough his bitch of a sister and that horse-tooth sister-in-law who thinks she GOD’S GIFT but is so totally WRONG were all talking about us in secret AS IF I COULDN’T FIGURE IT OUT. Bitches. Remember them? As if they can talk, one of them is FAT and the other is SHORT. HA! Oh, sorry, Amb, short isn’t really bad, not really. It’s just that being taller is better, you know that.

Crap. I’ve got to run, the kid’s crying. I swear this breast feeding thing has got to STOP SOON. I can NOT get National Geographic tits out of this. He won’t suck ME dry. Somebody’s got to stay hot in this family. God, have you seen Fred’s grays? They’re only visible all the way to FREAKING HOBART. And he has NO intention of dying them. I’m so sick of arguing about it so I was all like WHATEVER DO WHAT YOU WANT. But I did it all sweet so I could get more points. I have SO many points and the boy is ALWAYS in need of more. Haha!! That’s the way you got to handle ‘em, girl.

Talk to Markson then write back SOON!!