LCD Views

Few would dare say it out loud, but at the age of 92 the fact remains that our dearly beloved Queen Elizabeth II is cruising gently to the end of both her reign and indeed her time with us here on earth.

It is a measure of the wisdom and maturity with which she continues to fulfil her role as the mother of the nation that she has not held back from planning for what will be required following her inevitable, but no less mourned, demise, and has made known her wishes for her final resting place.

But while news that the government and the BBC have long been planning for the inevitable passing of our royal head of state and have even designated a special code word “London Bridge is down” for alerting the necessary organs of state her demise, “Her Madge’s” own plans have remained strictly come dancing.

Sorry, strictly under wraps.

Indeed, it has come as some surprise to learn that Madge has chosen to break with long standing traditions that from 1485 to 1820 accorded reigning monarchs a state funeral and burial in Westminster Abbey, and from 1820 onwards a national day of mourning for a state funeral in St George’s chapel, Windsor.

Instead she has let it be known to a select few privy councillors, flunkies, and retainers that she wishes to return to the earlier tradition established by the last Plantagenet monarch Richard III of being buried under a car park.

Richard’s choice was controversial even at the time of his demise in 1485.

Not least because it would be more than 400 years before the first cars were invented and only some years later that their numbers would increase to the point where they would require what were quickly, but erroneously, described as “automotive recreational areas”, or “car parks” for short.

A misnomer, that both traditionalists and visitors to NHS hospitals have long held does accurately describe the false impression that the vehicles so parked have taken root and will never be moved, but fails to acknowledge the obvious flaw in the argument, namely that the only fruit they ever appear to bear is in the form of parking tickets.

The question of which car park in particular her majesty wishes to be interred under is to date a closely guarded secret known only to the Royal Household, the prime minister Mrs May, and her predecessor Mr Cameron, and Ms Jo Cooper the CEO of National Car Parks (NCP).

Similarly under wraps is the nature of the vehicle which will be parked in the royal slot by way of a memorial.

The Gold State Coach (with newly installed integral shower facilities) has already been pre-booked for future visits by the supreme leader, His Excellency, president for life, Donald Trump while the family of big black rollers will be required by Liz’ own family, for her funeral procession through central London.

Which leaves only her own personal Land Rover Defender, the car in which she famously drove the late Saudi Arabian Monarch King Abdullah at high speed around the royal Balmoral estate, demonstrating the skills she learned as a military truck driver for the Women’s Auxiliary Territorial Service of the British Army during the second world war.
And, by all accounts, scaring the living bejeezus out of him in the process.

A fitting epitaph for any monarch, and one any car park would be proud to host.

Great news today for lovers of novelty tourism with the announcement that chumpy chum of the chum chum chumocracy, Boris ‘the chump’ Johnson (we mean it in the slang American sense) is to begin giving guided tours of a burning nuclear reactor.

“I want everyone to be reassured that no matter how badly the tour goes, Mr Dick will be perfectly safe. He is protected from all fallout by virtue of privilege and wealth,” tour booking agent, Lord Michael Howard, told us this morning, “and I am too. It’s sensible, early in life, to be sure you’re in the chumocracy. Birth is the best time to start.”

That’s reassuring to know. We wouldn’t want Mister Boris Cock’s trademark blonde mop to get singed as he shoves blinking peasantry through the nuclear flames.

But what price the tour?

“Millions of jobs,” Mr How-HOW?! replied, “it’s perfectly normal during times of deliberately created economic instability to sacrifice the livelihoods of millions of ordinary working people who were too stupid to choose the right accident of birth. Or who didn’t by hook or by crook manage to rectify that mistake during their formative years.”

When do the tours start?

“Oh, they’ve already begun. They are all day, every day and will continue until such time as a proper British Godzilla is born in the seas currently being polluted by radioactive waters, or the entire economy of the United Kingdom is successfully destroyed in order to make a few offshore tax exiles even wealthier.”

Excellent! What happens next, if the British Godzilla doesn’t arrive?

“Full blown fascism and a few years down the road World War Three, most likely, as the results of the project steamroll out of control and the rise of nationalism in Europe leads to conflict again. A lot of people stand to make an awful lot of money. It’s delightful.”

And what will Theresa May do now? Faced with the announcement of the guided tours?

“What she always does. Stand stock still, too terrified to move.”

And what about alternative tour leader Jeremy ‘the boy’ Corbyn? Some believe he could stand in the way of the tours if he choose?

Mr How-how-HOW? Why are you laughing?

“I wasn’t laughing. I was choking back my laughter. There’s a difference. He’s holding a party in the park while the entire fucking country descends into anarchy. Which is just what we want him to do. It’s funny where you find your allies in times of change.”

The people have the power.

“Excuse me?”

Nevermind. You can piss off back to your insulated privilege and blithely talk about the destruction of millions of people’s livelihoods as a price worth paying for some undefined goal somewhere distant.

“I might just do that. Take the tour and when you do, breathe in deep. The deeper you breathe, the richer we get.”