ANONYMOUS ASSISTANT

WELCOME TO LEGAL LONDON………

A Royal Embarrassment

Written By: anonymous - Jun• 11•12

It was the biggest weekend of the year: HM The Queen celebrated 60 years on the throne and Liz finally held her Hen Do.

Of the two events: the Jubilee was probably easier to organise. Still, we all made it to Windsor in one piece.  No one got lost or mislaid on the way.  And, then, we  all were assembled, in the B&B initiating Liz into the ceremony. To mark the occasion Jane bought her a crown, a cloak and an orb and sceptre (and, of course, an L-plate).The Moulin Rouge theme has been scrapped owing to a sudden (and mysterious) lack of enthusiasm from the rest of the group (Jane reckoned that Natasha nobbled them). But, never mind, Plan B (come as a member of the Royal Family) was easier. There were an assortment of Kate’s, a couple of Camilla’s, a Queen Mum, a Beatrice, a Margaret, a Zara and, even, a Prince Harry (Alex) whilst Jane and I battled it out for the black-sheep award as Wallis and Diana, respectively.

It was an odd combination but Liz seemed pleased.

“Queen for the day!” She put on her crown and paraded around the foyer. “I shall have you thrown in the Tower if you don’t behave.”

I think that applied, mostly, to Jane.

“You may have the crown, but we have the power,” she smirked.

“But don’t worry!” Natasha stepped in, “We won’t do anything nasty with it. This is going to be a sophisticated hen do. We are professionals after all.”

She flashed a pointed look in our direction, which provoked Jane into a loud, contemptuous guffaw. I jabbed her in the ribs and snatched the rest of the Hen paraphernalia to silence her.

“Queen Elizabeth the Third,” I crown Liz. “Welcome to your long awaited Hen Do. A host of extravagant entertainments await you. But you will have to trust your loyal ladies in waiting to guide you.”

“I wouldn’t trust you lot with anything!”

“No? We thought not. Do you stuff, Alex!”

Before she could protest, Alex threw the blindfold over her head. “Hold my hand,” he commanded. “We are going on a little walk.”

“Where to?”

“That depends on how obedient you are.”

Drawing some very curious looks from the tourists (and even a few picture requests), we guided her through the town towards the river where our Royal Barge awaited us.

“Ta da!” he whipped off the blindfold to present the tiny pleasure cruiser which would be our launch for the next few hours.

“Am I having a Flotilla?” she laughed.

“A Flotilla of one,” he told her. “Now, please board, Your Majesty, your subjects are waiting.”

We clambered aboard as the poor Captain looked on in astonishment. “I had no idea that this was a Royal Appointment!”

Alex slips on a CD of coronation music as unpack our quintessentially British picnic (egg sandwiches, sausage rolls and crisps.) Liz was allowed to enjoy her lunch (with lashings of Champagne!) before we launched into our first challenge: the Mr and MRs quiz, which she got spectacularly wrong.

“What is Dan’s favourite colour?”

“Blue!”

“Purple.”

“Same thing!”

“Fraid not. You have just incurred your first forfeit. Please select a card.”

“Not fair!” She protested but pulled out the card nearest to her, which Jane read out. “Demonstrate a position of the Karma Sutra.”

Natasha is aghast. “You can’t do that!”

“Why not?” Jane laughed. “She might need it for her wedding night.”

But before anyone can say anything more Liz is on the floor with one of her legs behind her head. She looked so ridiculous and everyone was so shocked that a roar of laughter went up, even from Natasha.

“I bet Windsor has never seen a Queen behave like that before!” Alex is happily snapping away.

And indeed it hasn’t. As the afternoon wears on she went through at least another twelve forfeits; everything from singing Spice Girls songs to mooning passers-by.  The Captain was visibly traumatised by the time we disembark.

Next stop the cocktail bar, where Jane decided it was time to give Liz her special presents. First up is Alex, who had (clearly) been rummaging about his favourite Soho stores to produce the skimpiest outfit ever manufactured. A few bits of fishnet and the odd safety pin.

“There are more holes than fabric,” Jane remarked.

“Precisely” he screamed. “You’ll have to get Dan to model it, Liz; they are all the rage in the Gay clubs at the moment. You’ll love it!”

“He might model it for me, he’s not going to model it for you!” she laughed.

“Pity….”

“Can anyone follow that?” I asked the group. Surprisingly Natasha stepped forward.

“I think I can; this one is for you. If Dan can do fishnet, you can do latex!”

Jane’s eyes almost popped out of her head. Natasha and latex! Has she had a bit too much Champagne? We watched in astonishment as Liz ripped the parcel open. Inside there lay a pair of pink rubber washing-up gloves. Aha.

“Handy as well as alluring,” she modelled them.

“You could make Dan wear both,” I suggested, “Then he really would be a fantasy figure.”

“Absolutely!” she giggled so much she almost fell off her chair.

It’s hard to beat those two triumphs but she soon managed to acquire a selection of edible thongs, willy-shaped chocolates, sex dice, nipple tassels and, even, a new inflatable husband (from Jane and me).

Jane and I have kept the cocktails flowing and Natasha seems to have loosened up considerably. In fact, so much so that by the time we moved on to “I Have Never” she is admitting to all sorts of unlikely indiscretions.

“I have never been involved in a love-triangle!”

This was a turn up for the books.

“I have never had sex on a beach!”

Blimey! Only a few could match that achievement. And, then, most shocking of all:

“I have never had an affair with the British High Commissioner!”

And no one could beat that one. Not even Jane.

So we gave her some more cocktails and she told us all about it; the life of an international development officer is way more exciting than we had thought. Then we all headed off to the 80s club to relive our misspent youth.  It was an orgy of big hair and shoulder pads. My Diana costume fits right in. When we arrived “Xanadu” was playing and, within seconds, Liz was podium dancing.

“I love this song!” And in a fit of enthusiasm she launched her sceptre off the balcony to where we were dancing below. “Woooooo!”

Alex caught it but not before it had (almost) harpooned an enormous girl in pink.

“Oi!” she wheeled round to face him.  “What you playin’ at?!”

“Sorry!” he giggled. “My friend got a bit carried away.”

“She could ‘ave killed me!”

“I don’t think so girlfriend,” he told her, “Not with this bit of tat.”

To demonstrate its flimsiness he waved it around in front of her. But she grabbed it and they began to tussle. Next minute, they were on the floor rolling around, grappling for the sceptre. Then, out of nowhere, Liz appeared and flung herself into the melee.  “Get off Prince Harry!”

It didn’t take long for the bouncers to turn up. Seconds later we found ourselves bundled into a side door and out into an alleyway where the local Police were waiting. Great.

“Evening your royal highnesses’,” a small beady-eyed constable gave us the once over.

“Good evening officer,” Liz replied. She still had her haughty Queen-face on. “Not only am I a Royal Highness I am also a Solicitor of the Supreme Court of England and Wales!”

“Really?” He smirked. “Then can you explain why you were brawling on the floor of a nightclub?”

“I was not brawling!” she protested. “I was defending my grandson and retrieving my sceptre!”

“I see,” I pretend to take notes. “Do you think a Magistrate would believe that?”

“I don’t care what a Magistrate would believe! It’s the truth! And, besides, I’m Queen, I can do what I like!”

He cast a weary look in our direction. “I suggest you take your friend back to her hotel and put her to bed.”

“I am not staying in a hotel! I live in Windsor Castle!”

“Ok then, take her back to the Castle. Either that, or she can spend a night in the cells.”

I could see that Jane was tempted to choose the latter, so I grabbed her arm.

“Come on,” I told her “You have had such a nice weekend, we don’t want you to end up being imprisoned and struck off. Imagine what the papers would say.”

“You’re right!” she gasped. “I don’t want to discredit the monarchy and the legal profession in one evening.”

No, one or the other is perfectly all right, but both would be overdoing it.

 

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