Dawn Dream 01

Dawn Dream 01. Thursday March 3rd:

So I was assigned the task of escorting the queen to dinner at the Vorpen'or (??) restaurant in Piccadilly / St. James district.

We chatted intimately and I said; 'this is like being on a date at nine years old when you know nothing, learn something but return home a good deal wiser' and I think I put a word in for my old dad who served her in the RAF.

She invited me back to a plush Green Park apartment near the palace where we cuddled and spooned on a French 17th century Rococo Baroque chaise-longer.

But as I turned inwardly closer towards her, she claimed I'd accidentally trapped her finger beneath me and called 'security' and three velure-clad fulsome ladies-in-waiting appeared to examine the Royal digit and put matters aright.

They made enquiries as to who I might be but seeing that Her Royal Highness was happy in my embrace they asked no further questions. The queen dozed off in my arms and was then borne away by footmen to her chamber on a kind of eiderdowned bier.

I confessed my identity as a jobbing-actor to the remaining almost plump Sloanie-type waiting-women and then got a taxi home with some affable brokers who asked me how the old girl was.

©2016 David Shaw-Parker

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