21 October, 2006

Inquiry: Nanoq

To: Bendte Neilsen ringstedbn@gmail.com
From: Edda Knuth Pedersen info@galathea3.dk
Re: Nanoq
Date: 21 October 2006

Dear Ms. Neilsen,

Thank you for your query about the origin of the name of the boat Nanoq. The yacht has no relation to this expedition, and I am instructed that we are unaware of any controversy concerning the Sydney to Hobart yacht race.

However, after consulting with one of the Nanoq sailors currently
ashore that I can confirm your surmising that it is a combination of Nan and Oq. "Nan" comes from "scotch nanny" and "oq" is based on "ocker" otherwise known as "bogan". The sailor has kindly taken a moment to let me know that no, the Prince does not regret imposing the name on the yacht.

I then received a call from one Mr. Markson who inquired as to whether you are a Danish or Australian citizen and therefore covered by any treason and sedition laws. Please do not read anything into the reference to "Australian citizen". I inquired (being of a scientific turn of mind) and Mr. Markson said something to the effect that there are no plans for treason and sedition laws in Australia to apply to Danes having a laugh at the Crown Prince's expense yet.

Crown Princess Mary has allowed the attached photo of the Crown Prince to be sent to you. I took the liberty of assuming that you would like one.

Kind regards,

Edda Pedersen
Galathea Communications Officer

19 October, 2006

Mary to Markson: Listen up!

18 October 2006

Mr. Max Markson
Publicity Hound for the Publicly Hounded
Markson Sparks
Level 1
113 Redfern Street

(can you look this term up please Max, it was something I picked up at law school, and fix the spelling)

CHRIST, Sparkie, you’re LOSING IT!

I was piped a treat via my many sets of eyes last night – you were out there touting Bindi Irwin as a potential gazillionaire OUT IN THE OPEN! If I didn’t like you I’d think you were dumb as dogshit. I leave Oz for a bit and PR is all over the shop. Does it occur to you to take a back seat? Do you have to be truthful and fuck up the main game?

And what THE HELL is with "elegant Amber" in Versace sitting next to Sydney celeb A-LISTERS and NOT pawing and clawing the footy player next to her? HOW CAN YOU DO THAT TO ME? If I have to settle for Prince Fluffykins then Amber has to settle for a gay hairdresser playmate or Jayson Brunsden, OK? She’s making me look like an Idol winner. Metaphorically speaking, gimme Shannon Noll runner-up territory, thank you, NOT Guy Se-fucking-bastian. GOD.

NOW. Back to me and MY empire (to be).

GODDAMMIT!!! What the hell are you doing? How did the Galathea business get out? What is Fred doing giving interviews to Ekstra Bladet leaking that he talks dirty with his sailor pals? You’re fucking with my ego, Snark. I don’t like it. If Fred’s ridiculous plan to get the Galathea to measure the currents with state-of-the-art equipment gets out, I’LL get the blame, thank you very much. No-one would believe that little dopey puppy could conceive of a devious plan like that to speed across the finish line faster than he can tackle a bottle of whiskey. While I think of it, Fred is to continue to be uxorious on the record even when drunk as a skunk, please. I’ll let you know when that changes.

So help me, I am so ropable right now! I cannot believe that such a fantastically conceived idea of mine could be so royally (shut up, Max) screwed up. POOF! Just disappears in a cloud of smoke thicker than the chimney-in-law’s exhale. Well, thanks for NOTHING. What passes for DRF publicity, as usual, is of no help as Lis Thingy’s bumblings make it look like we’d been planning something undercover for a while (never mind the truth – it’s perception that counts, f.i. Danish pink press) by stressing the unofficial nature of the trip instead of the usual "we don’t comment on their private lives". Well, at least the photographers will still be on alert that we’re coming and will require some good shots. I want you to arrange for some shots of me, facing the morning sun, wind blowing my hair back, and holding the bub. Gotta look REAL maternal and loving as if that were the way we always are. No bother what the kid’s expression is, just tell them to get me in my best light before I put the little squirmer down again. And you must promise: my sisters DO NOT share any shots with me. It's bad enough I'm starting to look as old and tired as them, we don't need to shout it from the rooftops with indisputable visual proof.

Back to sailing, do you have ANY IDEA how careful we have had to be with the scheduling for both the Galathea 3 thing and the Sydney Hobart race timing? Now it all may be in total jeopardy for Fred to participate in either. Do you know how hard it was to ensure the journos didn’t twig that an Arctic icebreaker has no business at the other pole? Hopefully, we can get Hamish and Chris to call about some back door deals on getting Nanoq into the Sydney-Hobart. Like I’ve always told Fred, it’s not what you know, but who you know. We HAVE to make this happen one way or the other. It was part of our pre-nuptial agreement: he boozes up his Inner Bogan and I get the credit card.

You have NO IDEA what kind of NIGHTMARE for me it is to have him around and NOT BUSY. Could you NOT possibly understand the level of secrecy and intricacy that we’ve had to work in? Getting that ship "cleared" through the damn Navy and science academies – they’re not stupid, and I’ve had to bare two more teeth at the side of my mouth while “smiling” to scare them - that was more work than Freddo’s done in about six years, he’s been too busy crying and licking my boots.

Down to the business at hand. Are we on the same page? No-ho. Nuh. Nuh-uh. (How do you say no in Danish? I forget.) SO. The plan was: flag our trip, get the Australian public clamouring to see us at pitstops, and get the lot for free courtesy of the subterranean – I mean Antipodean – redneck pollies, so we could chock up the bank account a bit. Parties in Europe specially those post-piste (yes, I get my own pun, thanks) are expensive, even when all the food and drink and accommo and cars and entertainment are free. There’s the stay-happy obliteration component, OK? And people to quiet on that front who want to reveal the truth. Well, the clock’s ticking since the game’s just about up with the chimney-in-laws, thanks to those ferals on that discussion board. I used to go there for ego stoking and stroking. Now I go there to get some blood rushing around my system. Hanging out with the household staff with bandaged knees, thick ankles and all talking Nooooord – probably Danish but I can’t tell - is NO RUSH, let me tell you. So get this, what happened at the opening of Parliament the other day: here I am thinking Daisy is still c-h-a-r-m-e-d and then the old bat just smiles at me through gritted teeth before giving me a little BITCH-SLAP. In PUBLIC! Where’s her control? WHERE ARE THE OLD GIRL’S MANNERS? She’s not falling apart fast enough for MY TASTE, that’s for sure.

I digress. Lots of campaign ground to cover, and lots already lost. SO. Now, instead of Kirribilli we get to park chez the cheesie premier of Tassie. Yuck. He’s way too essential Tassie to make me feel comfortable. Would YOU want to go hang out in your childhood ambience? I didn’t think so, so you’ve got to divert on that front or send a mainland substitute. Where’s the eastern suburbs adulation when I need it? Sparks, you faithless hound, I’m starting to wonder who is paying you to subvert my plans. Is it Amber? What’s with the skin, the hair? The class act? And what’s definitely up with the especially soignée grooming under-arm? I saw a shot of Amber’s underarm held right up to the camera: OK, so she was raising a champagne glass, but that was NOT her motive, taunting little bitch. Why is SHE freaking guest of honour at the Melbourne Cup? Why the hell wasn’t I invited? I’m ROYAL, babycakes, and Amber’s just a royal pain in the arse. ‘Memba?!

While I think of teeth – what was it with you and "fixing" Dad’s teeth? Was that your caper? I told you, Rob Roy Woad-bod warned us that those crooked, prominent teeth contain tribal secret business and Boganson tribal power. Dad isn’t even half the weird Pict chief-type he was without the Chad Morgan look. Now that he’s gone all Hollywood, he’s as vain as can be – so what? Did you have to indulge him? He thinks he’s fucking Sean Connery now. Johncock’s wife is the only other family member with teeth like that. Does this mean I have to work the family paedophile rapist into the mix somehow? That will test even MY skills.

There might be an upside to thatty though. Without his TEETH I don’t need Dad around so much any more. I might hand him back to my sisters who can deal with his new peacocking. There are other grandchildren, after all. I’m storing them up till they need the Bindi Irwin treatment. You know, like if I fall on hard times after the chimneys’ staff is on to my game.

By the way, have you managed to get those "DocuMEntary" outtakes removed from the net? It has Fred YAWNING when I’m talking about my old high school. And we’re about to return to Tassie and I would like to pull a thicker curtain down on the bogan past, thanks, I don’t want Fred to remember now that he’s post the first flush. Fred is to continue to be uxorious, infantile, grateful and depressed. GOT IT?

Sparks, I cannot take his shit much longer. I’m going to get Dr. Freudenborg to up Baby Boy’s meds. If you don’t like having a mooning loon around the traps (you should see it behind closed doors) when we come by, you better get cracking and onto damage control. SOON. I will be the only psychopathic lunatic in this court, thank you very much!

So here’re my instructions: One. Make sure "six day trip" is touted around harder. I saw it referred to as three to six weeks. That’s not good. Rule Number One: If it’s the truth, we DON’T LEAK IT.

Two. Bromides and lots of them for Fred, keeps him from thinking he’s a male while he’s drinking in his mates’ testosterone. You can get it from the Danish Army. We just tell them they’re for me - the court thinks they’re keeping me pumped so I can survive my work round. HA! They think they’re overworking me!! Even better, so do the slow masses!!

Three. Do something about Amber. I keep telling you she’s to be my foil and uglier than me, classless, etc. The way things are going she will show me up. I don’t want that, you don’t want that, neither of us want that and, Spark, if you insist on continuing to engineer Amber-Gorgeous, Mary-On-Verge-Of-Negative-Publicity-More-Profitable, I’ll toady to the Danish Secret Service, service my husband, and have your kneecaps swinging from my earlobes. GOT IT?

Speaking of kneecappings, look into flying Jade Alexander-Erber down to Tassie for a girl’s lunch. We’re starting to have things in common.

Suck it up,

12 October, 2006


Meeeeeerrrrrryyyyyy! What in the mammary glands is going on here, young lady? Did you really think we wouldn't notice this!? A white brassiere under a black stretch top!? Are we forgetting our crown princessly ways and reverting to old pub-crawling, used-car salesman-trawling habits? Thinking that a view of the undies is sexy and tantalising? Like with the hot pink brassiere at the Slip It In for your first meeting/shag, the white lace bra for your first kiss, the purple bra for your "fiskkutter!" declaration in Skagen? I mean, arncha climbing the fence from manicured sexy lawns and falling head-first into the unkempt skanky yard? Still on that downward slope opposite Amber's ascending trajectory and thus confusing "sexy" with "skanky"/"crack whore sobered up for the VIP entry with paps" (paps NOT referring to the pregnancy exam requiring NO underwear), and confusing that peek-a-boo even further by utilising granny undergarments? What's going on - too many "scotch nanny" mutterings in Freddums's sleep got you confused? Look, would you want Fred going out to a party with his man buttons on display? Have you learned nothing? Girl, please. Once again, with feeling, but LISTEN UP THIS TIME.

It is one of the characteristics of a truly elegant and well-presented woman that she has her lingerie in control, invisible and flattering to her body type. It is as important as good posture, a sincere smile and clean & mended, if not expensive, clothing. All women should have their underwear figured out by age 35. You're creeping up there, girl, less than five months to go.

We have all seen the horrors of VPL (visible panty line), back boobs even on skinny gals, slipping bra straps, purposely exposed bra straps , runs in stockings, cellulite dimples exposed by tight and light-coloured trousers and bumpy, seamed or lacy bras poking through tight knits on many other women without ever thinking that we ourselves commit such gaffes, except YOU ARE ONE OF THE WORST OFFENDERS. It is the wearing of, ahem, one's party hats that attracts the attention of the men around you: at the office, in the shops, at a restaurant, etc. One's love buttons are not just another parcel of skin being squeezed and/or protruded by ill-fitting undergarments and dropping temperatures. No, Mares, the nipple is an erogenous zone hors catégorie. We could waste our time arguing that it is, like the swollen mammary gland it sits on, just another part of the body. That it is the gateway to sustenance for our precious offspring. That for Pete's sake, even men have them, so... so what? None of that matters when even a plain woman known around the office as hard-working and serious, is selling raisins under a slim fitting knit top. No, Mary, she will be seen as the office mattress. Even the most respectful, feminist male will - without even willing the feeling - have totally eroticised his colleague, undressed her and taken her against the copy machine. In his mind only to be sure, lest he be slapped with harrassment charges or worse. Men are, after all, men. This was ok for you back in the day, but you are now a FREAKING FUTURE QUEEN, chickie. "Demure" is the order of the day, not "baby wanna buy mama a bourbon with a beer chaser?".

To minimize the impact of one's high beams, if that is indeed the route chosen, and IT SHOULD BE FOR YOU, Mary, the proper brassiere must be employed. Padded bras per se are for selling the breasts, for making them appear larger and perkier than they do when they are not on stage. As a married woman, surely I don't have to remind you THAT YOU ARE NOT SELLING IT ANYMORE. There are however many styles which provide a layer of padding all over the cup that is too thin to add dimension to one's poitrine, but just enough so that the girls appear to be at ease even if they are all wound up and squealing with excitement (or freezing). There is also a brand of undy called Spanx that was made just for the girl with extra mushy bits on her tummy, hips, bottom and thighs. And brassieres to guarantee no back boobs or bumpy hardware showing through. There is video out there of you, Mares, with your jiggly bits moving around here and yon. Oh, oh, think you're too skinny to have globby bits!? Get a three-way mirror, then see the truth. The jello-shake is not so much about weight, but definitely about age, so even if the former is stationary, the latter is forever creeping up.

And please don't think "but I live in nudie Denmark" is an excuse. You are not just any other Karen Grovsen who can strip down to her panties in Rosenborg park for some UV rays. I mean, for pete's sake, sister, can you not see how strange it is for people that you wear a bikini to the beach, yet cover up against the paps and the sun with a full-length bathrobe at the beach? Would you please put some thought into reconciling the confusing messages you are sending out!? And the bra-with-tank-top look should be kept to the privacy of your boudoir from now on, thank you very much.

If you are done with dental floss up your butt as the only way to eliminate VPL, and you should be after breaking prime butt floss rules by wearing a CROCHET skirt over yours, check out the boy cut hipsters. Yes, it will be unable to contribute to the appearance of curves on your manly physique, but then, only Fred, if he's unlucky, will be seeing you in such a state. BUT, it provides a convenient foil for the presque-zizi! You could talk to some drag queens about what they use to fold and tuck. But I don't think anything can be done about the bullneck or man hands.

LOOK. There is an undergarment for every piece of clothing, OK? It's discouraging that a crown princess can't even figure that out by herself, but the good news is that you can achieve an almost flawless figure (NO undergarment can cut you a waist, though), no matter your size or body fat percentage. So, go on, Mare, have a sandwich just as Yehudi suggests for better conceiving chances, you can always shove it into some Spanx later on.

11 October, 2006

Well done, gang

The cpmary blogspot community and its many sympathisers, known and unknown, owe themselves a big pat on the back and hearty congratulations on the democracy in action just manifested. Curious timing, the recent press release by the palace press officer confirming (and stressing) a PRIVATE visit by the junior Bogansons? I think not, ladies and gents. A right ruckus was raised to the feelers put out recently by the -parret court as to the viability of an official visit of the little family to their favourite country, Australia. So loud and wide was the protest that the retraction of the ill-conceived idea of a New Years 2008 tour was quickly forgotten in place of what will have to be a quickly slapped together December 2006 tour ("Patty, put some sheets on the pull-out sofa. The boy and I will need your bedroom"), with or without Fred - that has yet to be confirmed. Baby boy may not be able to put together a sailing gig on such short notice. But don't count him out! If there is one thing you have come to know and love about sensitive action man, it's that he can paste together a ramshackle crew faster than Amber Petty can find a red carpet. Maybe a little call will be in order to Mary's former boss, or Xn's godfather, or the other sailing hangers-on they've allowed to because of their desirable connections? Crisis truly averted?

Stay tuned for how this "private visit" will all turn out. How many photographers will be clued into prime viewing places for the group's activities? How many "candid" happy-family shots with the greater clan will there be? How much of the extended family will be invited to meet lille Xn and pretend not to notice the encephalitis? How much would Murdoch pay for a shot of Johncock holding the little gallstone-gene mutation? Will Yehudi be nearby? Will Suse continue to exclude her own brood? The questions abound and the possibilities are still endless - after all, we're still in the strategic planning phase. So why not celebrate your recent success and all the glorious options for the upcoming Tour 2006: Escape from Winters Danish with a glass of privately purchased champers? To you! Skål!

03 October, 2006

Thanks, suckers!

Thanks to blog archivist truthteller for finding this article that appeared in The Australian detailing the cost of the 2005 Looker Me! Tour to the Australian taxpayer. Soon the annual report will be released from last fiscal year which will give us a comparison to the visits last year of both the Swedish majesties and Australia's rightful Head of State, Queen E.

Taxpayer picks up Princess Mary's drinks tab

By Michael McKinnon and Annabelle McDonald
June 06, 2005

TAXPAYERS spent more than $130,000 so political leaders could sip champagne with the Crown Princess of Denmark, Mary Donaldson, and to ensure her first official visit home to Australia went off without a hitch.

The hefty bill was part of a total $300,000 of federal government funds shelled out when Mary and Crown Prince Frederik visited four cities in March. (NOTE : THIS IS FEDERAL GOVT ONLY) A further $177,000 was spent by the Tasmanian Government, while the NSW and Victorian governments and the Governor-General Michael Jeffery were believed to have laid out six-figure sums, bringing the total cost of the 23-day tour to an estimated $750,000.

Two media consultants worked to minimise embarrassing hiccups for up to four months ahead of the tour at a cost to taxpayers of more than $73,000. And in an attempt to impress the royal couple and diplomats who accompanied them, the federal Government threw a lavish $62,000 reception in Parliament House's Great Hall on March 9. The costs were contained in documents provided to The Australian following a Freedom of Information request to the Department of Prime Minister and Cabinet.

The couple also attended taxpayer-funded state receptions in NSW, Victoria and Tasmania and the nation's capital at an unknown cost to residents of those states. They were accompanied by a 14-member entourage, but taxpayers picked up the tab only for the royal couple and Frederik's private secretary, Per Thornit.

The trio racked up $102,000 on four interstate flights in an RAAF jet and a five-car cavalcade with police escorts. The Government spent another $45,000 on five-star hotel suites and $12,000 hiring the VIP lounge at Sydney airport, buying Danish flags and badges, and printing commemorative programs. The Danish taxpayers are believed to have paid for the accommodation of the remaining entourage.

No Parking Zone

A long forgotten article written by Vanda Carson, a Sydney-based reporter who has followed Mary since Our Gal was discovered late 2001. It is very interesting to take note of what was being said long before the engagement and the royal spin put on her back story. Many thanks to truthteller for the great find!

A regal Dane in the making
By Vanda Carson
September 26, 2003

Mary Donaldson had just parked Prince Frederik's Land Rover in a narrow cobbled street of Copenhagen. She locked her door and walked away when a middle-aged man approached her. "Det er ikke tilladt [You cannot park there]," he said.

Donaldson looked perplexed, meekly replying in English, "Sorry, I don't understand."

As soon as news spread around the city of just 1.7 million people last year that she could not make out this simple sentence – plus she had the gall to break the rules in what is an obedient and orderly city – the Danish media erupted. They were offended that Crown Prince Frederik's Australian girlfriend had not yet bothered to learn their language, or to fit in with an organised culture where ticket machines abound (in post offices, grocery stores and all official buildings).

But aside from this aberration, Danes have been fed a steady diet of stories about what a wonderful princess she would make. Since February last year, when the palace officially confirmed that the prince was dating the Tasmanian-born law-graduate, the tabloid newspaper BT, and more conservative broadsheets such as Jyllands Posten and Berlingske Tidende, have written front-page stories about "beautiful, talented Mary".

But she has a lot to live up to with Wednesday's confirmation of a royal wedding next year. The prince's mother, Queen Margrethe, is an immensely popular monarch. She represents an ideal to the Danish people; she is tall, formidable even, speaks five languages, studied at the Sorbonne, the London School of Economics and Cambridge University. She is a talented and accomplished artist, having painted backdrops and designed costumes for the Danish Royal Ballet and illustrated Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings books.

The other stiff competition comes from Princess Alexandra, the wife of Frederik's younger brother Joachim. The princess, who married in 1995, is of British-Austrian-Chinese heritage and is from Hong Kong. She learned the language in record time and was able to converse in Danish at the engagement announcement. She gave up her successful career as an economist to be a full-time royal and has impressed with her poise at official functions and as a charity patron. And she has produced two male heirs.

Donaldson has had to overcome a number of hurdles to win acceptance from the Danes. But her introduction has been carefully stage-managed by the palace officials, specifically the Crown Prince's spokesman Per Thornit and Lord Chamberlain Soren Haslund Christensen. The image-makers have only allowed her to reveal small pieces of herself, testing the waters over two years to prevent her from plunging into the role too quickly.

She has effectively been gagged by the palace, not having said more than three words (in Danish) in public. Just last month, commenting on a designer collection at a fashion show, she told Danish Television, "Det var fantastisk [That was fantastic]," in a sophisticated Danish lilt.

The string-pullers have a cosy and convenient relationship with the editors of Denmark's top-selling newspapers, telling them "publish a nice story and we will give you more". There has been a tremendous public response to the romance and generally people are very enthusiastic at the prospect of an Australian queen. Danes say this is because Denmark, with a population of 5 million, is like a village and people prefer the prince to marry a foreigner, or someone far removed from the European aristocracy. (NOTE BY VC: well, they sure scored on that count.)

For Donaldson, a life awaits of promoting Denmark to the world. She will open exhibitions, go to fashion shows, become a charity patron and tag along with the prince at official functions. Oh, and produce heirs. Gone is the Australian ex-boyfriend who worked on a fishing trawler and girlfriend Beatrice Tarnawski, who was dumped after she blabbed to New Idea, to be replaced with new-found friend, famous Danish actor Ellen Hillingso.

Some of the "princess training" began before Donaldson even left Sydney. She enrolled in a deportment course in the eastern suburbs where she learned how to walk, talk and pose for the cameras. Then in December 2001, she quit her real estate job at Belle Property, and left for Britain, reportedly to live with her father, mathematics professor John Donaldson, in Oxford, where he teaches after recently retiring from the University of Tasmania. She appears, however, to have lived in Paris most of the time to be close to the prince. She also taught "business English".

From the beginning, the discreet manner in which the affair was conducted (it was a secret from September 2000 until November 2001) led royal observers to think she may be "the one". Such was the demand for a glimpse of the prince's girl that Danish magazine Se og Hor announced a DKr10,000 ($2265) bounty for a photograph of her on Danish soil. It was to no avail, but months later paparazzi snapped the first shot of the pair, in the prince's car arriving at the royal palace.

Next she attended a christening and a string of weddings. Gone were the sports clothes she favoured in Sydney, replaced instead by stylish dresses, elegantly styled hair and a more regal posture.

In November last year, Donaldson and the prince visited Sydney to attend another wedding where Donaldson was bridesmaid. Then they went to the Melbourne Cup. Danes were so sure the pair would marry that stories began to appear asking: Who is holding back? Is it the prince or the Queen who has cold feet?

Hungry for every detail of her life, the Danish press went to Tasmania to speak to her school teachers and friends. What emerged was a picture of an ambitious, sporty, headstrong girl – the youngest daughter of a professor from the suburb of Sandy Bay, whose mother had died six years before. She attended Taroona High School to Year 10, then Hobart College and the University of Tasmania, where she graduated with a commerce-law degree. Less favourable stories in the tabloid press have suggested she may have anorexia or bulimia because of dramatic weight loss.

Donaldson received close attention from the Danish diplomatic security services when the prince was staying at her Bondi Junction terrace in Sydney early in 2001. The secret service had to ensure the house was "secure" before the prince – who receives an annual tax-free stipend of Dkr4.3 million – could stay. One story has Donaldson's bemused flatmate coming downstairs for breakfast to find the prince, looking decidedly un-regal in boxer shorts, eating a bowl of cereal.

It is still not clear exactly when she moved to Denmark. She lived at the royal palace for at least a month in early 2002 before she was set up in a $7000-a-month port-side apartment just minutes away. She has no previous experience in information technology, but Frederik got her a job at a Danish software company, a subsidiary of Microsoft. She spent less than a month in total at work. The rest of the time she was photographed shopping in the ritziest boutiques, laden with bags of clothes, or jetting off to exotic locations (Brazil, the Swiss Alps, France to name a few).

Come April or May next year, she will be walking down the aisle at Holmen's Kirke, a 17th-century Danish Royal Navy chapel where Queen Margrethe was married in 1967. It is small and holds fewer than a thousand people. Alas, she won't be wearing a Lisa Ho or Collette Dinnigan gown. Protocol demands her dress will be designed by a Dane – most likely Julie Fagerholt, a friend and and up-and-coming figure in the fashion world.

Donaldson's siblings and, in fact, Tasmania, have been low-key about the news. When The Australian called her stepmother Susan Moody in Oxford, she said the prince had been "very good at comforting Mary". "She has been very lonely in Denmark and he has been very supportive of her. They are very much in love."

Donaldson's sister Jane Stephens was equally relaxed. When she answered the phone in Hobart, she was cooking dinner for her three children. "The family is very thrilled and excited and very happy that this has occurred," she said.

"Do you think Mary will change?" she was asked. "Not her inner self, no. I don't think her true personality will change, I don't see her changing at all."

02 October, 2006

Aussie Aussie Aussie Oi Oi Oi: ACTION ALERT


So it seems the Danish court will in a short time announce the upcoming second official visit of La Boganista, her drunk husband and their fat-headed bub to coincide with New Years 2008. What self-serving beasts!

Now, on one hand, a second official visit within three years that takes 21 days and includes long, drawn-out "tours" of Sydney and Tasmania, among other places (they didn't hit Queensland or Perth last time 'round; anyone wanna put bets on Darwin or Alice Springs for the exotica effect?), and would not only bore most Australians to smithereens, but start eliciting a "whothehelldotheythinktheyare" backlash: this would be schadenfreude at it's most delicious. It could be predicted that even the Danish press could get in on the kronprinsparret-bashing, as Miss Thing cannot speak their language well, nor seems to give a toss about their country, either. No, Princess of Australia suits much better, tak-skal-du-have.

Then again, if the tour were to go through, Australian taxpayers would once again be forced to pay for the hotels, security and intra-Oz transport of this self-centered, hedonistic trio (Xn partly forgiven due to his bub-status). Hey, maybe another portrait will be thrown into the pot - one of Xn this time? Or a Pieta-inspired sculpture of Mary holding Xn for future saint status? Now, honestly, do you really want more of this 2005 tour garbage? A repeat of the Cubbie pig robotically waving at schoolkids released from class five minutes before the Crook Princess's car pulls up in front of the hospital for sick kiddies? Another sailing race attended by 100 confused Japanese tourists, but funded entirely by the nation's federal taxes? Pocket lining, freebies and "key" invites for Jayson Brunsden, Max Markson, Amber Petty, Rob Roy Woad-bod, John & Susan Boganson, the Packer empire, and a whole host of assorted hangers-on?

Unlike Amber on Celebrity Survivor (see Hemivision link), YOU DON'T HAVE TO PUT UP WITH THIS. There are ways and means in a democratic society to make your voice heard, to speak up and out, to say to your MP, "sowhadyagonnadoabouddithuhfuckface!?" just as if you yourself were a member of the Boganson clan. It would also be very diplomatic and kind of you to give the same message to their Danish counterparts, including the royal court. Anything we can do to help the Danes shake off the effects of the royal kool-aid they've been drinking lo these many years will be a great service to humanity. They are afraid to look closely at their future king & queen for fear of what lies within. It is hard, but we must help them through it. Isn't this what cooperation between countries is really about? Killing the bogan? How 'bout some international cooperation, then, eh? Hey, you other nation's citizens, c'mon get in on this, let's make our own little UN, right here.


Head of State: Her Majesty The Queen
Buckingham Palace
London, SW1A, 1AA
United Kingdom

Prime Minister: Hon. John Howard MP
Parliament House
Canberra, ACT 2600

Opposition Leader: Hon. Kim Beazley MP

Minister for Foreign Affairs: Hon. Alexander Downer MP

Ambassador to Denmark: Ms. Sharyn Minahan
Dampfaergevej 26, 2nd floor
Copenhagen DK-2100

Treasurer: Hon. Peter Costello MP
Room MG47, Treasurer's Office
Canberra ACT 2600

New South Wales Premier: Hon. Morris Iemma MP
Level 40 Governor Macquarie Tower
1 Farrer Place
Sydney NSW 2000

Lord Mayor of Sydney: Clover Moore MP

Lord Mayor of Melbourne: John So

Premier of Tasmania: Paul Lennon

Public Relations: Max Markson
Markson Sparks
1st Floor
113 Redfern Street
Redfern NSW 2016


Office of the Lord Chamberlain
Amaliengade 18
P.O. Box 2143
DK-1015 Copenhagen K

Head of Press and Information, Lis M. Frederiksen
Amaliengade 18
DK-1015 Copenhagen K

Court of the Crown Princely Couple
P.O. Box 2143
DK-1015 Copenhagen K

Royal Danish Consulate-General, Australia
Jørgen Møllegaard Kristensen
Gold Fields House, 21st Floor
1 Alfred Street, Circular Quay
Sydney NSW 2000