A new consultancy to the DRF
Attention: Ove Ullerup, Lord Chamberlain
Den 20. december 2006
Thank you for your recent letter detailing your findings of my eldest son's strange shenanigans. I've attached it to the police file for one Mr. Snoop Dogg whose "business" here in Denmark I had the Justice Department clear as it involved Frederik and something about white powder, which is just a little bit too close to the spirit of his recent holiday in Australia and the Galathea III's business. It's bad enough that Mary's bogan relatives are getting in on our game and perverting it to no end with their see-through homes and official duties!
Why couldn't Frederik just have taken up smoking like me and Papa? It doesn't take velvet bags and diplomatic immunity to enjoy a nice carcenogenic puff every now and again, and it certainly doesn't need to be enjoyed in the company of American rapping musicians. (As a side note, we might want to send a precautionary communication to Dr. Geldstein regarding Mary's increasing desire for the next child to be a celebrity-African kid. To put it bluntly, over my dead body!)
As you can surmise, the Prince Consort and I have been deeply confused by, as you succintly put it, Frederik's decision to "snob himself down". You mention that it took place approximately four years ago. As far as I can remember, that is about the same time that a young bogan filly arrived on Denmark's fair shores, fooling us all with her "discretion" and "charm". I honestly thought that after testing her ability to clam up around the papparazzi that she'd be a bit better at this. My sisters and I had all agreed that perhaps letting her have all the corrective surgery she needed would put her in a state of gratitude to us that would have surely translated into a diligent, selfless representative of our fair nation. Boy, were we wrong! RIP noblesse oblige. As my dear husband would say, "quelle arriviste!"
Perhaps I had misunderstood the advice of Dr. Freudenborg, Frederik's psychotherapist. He did say that Frederik would require a strong woman to be his wife, but it seems as though well-balanced and secure were a couple of the missing components of that strength. In other words, he meant "inner strength", not just possession of Iron Thighs. Dear. I wish I'd realised this the day in Caïx when I engaged the two. No wonder Frederik sent out a press release immediately from Amalienborg right after my pronunciation from France that a grown man wouldn't be too pleased to find out from the media what plans his parents have in store for him. And I just thought he was still pining for that underwear girl, what was her name? Yes, Katja. A right balanced, non-potato rejecting, sweet Danish girl. Hindsight is 20-20, wouldn't you say?
Well, it is clear to me more than ever that the advice I should have been following all along was that of a couple of new friends. I am pleased to hear that you have the signed contracts with them for the new DRF consultacy, Ove. They are wise beyond measure and seem to have a very special grasp of royal Danish custom and that strange behaviour from Down Under that has tragically nurtured the Crown Princess in her formative years. Admittedly, their bluntness and honesty can be quite alarming and a bit of a shock to one's royal system, however I have determined that their insight is worth coming off of the valium drip for good as I have quite a bit of housecleaning to do in this court. As the girls have said on their blog, "Don't fuck with the Daisynator!"
I'm delighted of course, that these women had the extra-sensory perception to read my cry of help in the "cheery" decoupage altar cover I made especially for Roskilde Cathedral, final resting place of Denmark's kings. It is understandable that the art critics had to have a go at the hideousness of my creation, but let them talk, I knew full and well that it was necessary to communicate the hideousness of the future of the royal family and that the resulting altar cloths would be rather an eyesore as a matter of course! If only they knew exactly what pain it tells of!
This antependium, with technical assistance from the Royal Danish Secret Police, transmits intelligence to Cece and Hester, and thanks them for the alerts and intelligence. This is why we had no choice but to offer an ongoing role to them as courtiers. Make sure they each get a white elephant for their efforts (hopefully they won't wear them like a breast bunion the way More-y does), however we'll have to keep their investiture quite a secret from the rest of the court, and certainly from the nation. They are NOT to publicise my largesse, please, or I'll have fires to put out and Bogansons claiming that I'm dispensing Treasury funds inappropriately. Professor Boganson is keeping a VERY close eye on the public accounts. What a hide! Matched the teeth.
It's a shame one of my new friends and supporters is in Australia, isn't it Ove, because that means my embroidery is subject to the Cash for Comment regulations in Australia. I've attached my draft of the compulsory acknowledgement for paid positive comment by the girls on the blog. I've kept it snappy. Mustn't waste pixels! Get it approved by Mr Giles Tanner at the Australian Communications and Media Authority ASAP and I'll beam it along. You will need to explain to Cece the history of the cash for comment - it's too complicated to describe in scarlet and blue thread. I listen to John Laws via shortwave all the time, have done so for years. LOVE his attitude to reffos and infidels, and homosexuals, so if Cash for Comment was good enough for Lawsy, it's good enough for Daisy!
How have you gone organising a back-straightener for the princess? I want her on it. If I have to spend another minute with a daughter-in-law who stoops, I'll straighten her shoulders myself. In public. Consider her warned! If she thinks those little bitch slaps at Easter and at the Parliament opening were rough, she'll be right shocked by the way I will pin her to the mat faster than she can find another excuse to travel south for the winter! It's my knees that are failing, not my strength!
There is one other thing while I think of it: could you please find out who is the doctor in Italy who had a 65-year-old woman give birth to her own baby. I'm starting to wonder whether I shouldn't haul my own eggs out of cold storage. They couldn't possibly produce anything worse than F and J have turned out to be. Get Dr. Geldstein to investigate, please. Fred is NOT to know, of course, and I can get myself along to the US in the guise of yacht-gazing or yarn shopping. Joachim can be told - he doesn't want the throne but he'd love to keep Mary and Fred off it. I'll deal with reversing the succession if there's a live birth.
I simply don't believe what that girl is putting me through. Ove, how did you let this happen? You must read up on the fate of those who fall asleep on their watch, and then get cracking! Hmm?