Twaklin Off Her Trolley

Oh, it is most annoying.  I cannot even venture into a British supermarket without a dozen tabloidian photographers blocking my way to the baked beans.  Queen Alexandra has offered to do my shopping so that I am not so inconvenienced.  She often manages to...


...travel incognito in her wedding dress.

When I am in Adelaide, no-one bothers me at all, not even when I am pushing a trolley.  Perhaps it is the cultural cringe there that prevents the Adelaidean media from acknowledging my superior cultural qualities.

The British and the American public, and even the Russians and the Danes, think that I am an artist of great style and substance.  I am sure the Australian public do, too, though unfortunately they rely too much on the opinions of media employees for (mis)guidance.

The only qualifications usually necessary for a woman to be mentioned in the British media appear to be the protrusion of fake appendages upon her person, or the desire to present herself as an example of starvation dieting.  I, on the other hand, am rather rare, natural, exclusive, elusive, and likely to be regarded as a sensation by unenlightened headline writers.

Queen Alexandra, of course, has a little trouble listening to the conversations around her for much of the time, even when the topics have nothing to do with celebrity gossip.  Ethereal cochlear implants have yet to be devised, as Mr Beethoven frequently complains, except when he goes to a noisy supermarket.

However, I am in good hands here in Wales regarding amateur photography, whether by royalty or by persons who in another era would have been transported to Australia.  It is considerably bemusing to many personages that I am unlikely to be properly digitalised, even with a telephoto lens.  Queen Alexandra prefers to photograph me at Sandringham, and I am often featured ethereally on pictures taken in the grounds there.

All persons in the public eye, in many parts of Europe and North America nowadays, believe that the most fashionable thing to do is to have a public relations team, usually to keep one's true identity secret, but also to create a suitable identity for monetary purposes.  I have therefore now acquired a temporary public relations team of the highest standing, on the recommendation of some of Queen Alexandra's own advisers.

My chief publicist here is Mr Herbert Cholmondeley.  He is assisted by a former SAS soldier by the name of Colonel du Bourg, along with the 10th Earl of Dundonald and Mr Theodore Hook.  They are notable and distinguished persons in the public relations field, as any true professional in that vocation will be aware.

Queen Alexandra's fashion advisers have also been assisting me, but their suggestions appear to prevent the very useful activity of breathing.  In a similar way, current material designers of shoes usually prevent the useful activity of walking.

I wonder if the wearing of such footwear is the reason why so many people need to be rescued by helicopter pilots from the tops of Welsh mountains.  You may have some knowledge of this topic if you are a member of the Australian royal family.

I am also told that some Americans have been trying to rescue people by helicopter from a rather more exotic location than Wales, but with rather less success.   Mr Cholmondeley believes his public relations skills should have been sought by President Obama when trying to arrange a meeting with someone called Osama. I do not know much about this topic, though Mr Cholmondeley is something of an expert in such matters.

I have also heard that one of Queen Alexandra's smaller corsets is sometimes used in the American public relations industry, especially during trips to the Caribbean.  The corset in question is worn as a vest under an orange suit when one is being interviewed by non-media personages, especially in Guantanamo Bay.  The corset is known as a weapon of mass restriction.

I do not have too many difficulties with corsets, but the British media have been trying to find out more about me and their interrogation techniques are frequently distasteful.  Do they think I am known to a personage called Mr Banksy?  Do they think I may boost the ratings of a reality television show?

Do British newspaper editors believe I have some very interesting pictures of the British prime minister, possibly taken at the Bullingdon Club?  Senior, reputable journalists with polite interpersonal skills are most welcome to meet me a week on Tuesday in the ethereal tea shop in Berners Street, Westminster at three o'clock in the morning or afternoon, as long as they bring along some substantial donations towards the worthy causes I support.

All members of my public relations team think I should sign a few corporate sponsorship deals in the coming weeks.  I have already turned down most bids received to date, including those from the British East India Company,  the South Sea Company, and the Mississippi Company.  Overend, Gurney and Company have put forward a very interesting proposal, which is still under my consideration.  I am still awaiting a reply from Mr Francis Baring, who is examining the offer on my behalf.

As far as fashion is concerned, Queen Alexandra is well known as a style setter and I have chosen to consult her currently favourite designers, most of whom are featured in the latest British edition of La Gazette du Bon Ton, Bon Goût, Bon Chic, Bon Genre et Bonjour.  I think I shall need some corporate sponsorship if I am to pay for the costumes in question.  And I still have my opera to fund.