Those crazy Royals

Today the Royal Princes announced they’ve set up a household, and did so on stationery printed with their new ciphers, or logos. What do you think? I think they look swell. Wills’ is red and Harry’s is blue.

So what’s this household business anyway? Basically it means they’re getting more professional independence within “The Firm.” They’ll have their own office to handle issues like Prince William’s increased role in royal functions or to cover up for Prince Harry next time he takes a poke at a photog outside a nightclub at 3:30 a.m. Just kidding. Sort of. Who pays for branch office? Dad, naturally.

I’m also taking a guess that Prince William might have a big announcement to make in the coming weeks, and it’s not that he’s shaving his stubby beard or getting hair plugs. Could it be the office is needed for some wedding planning? We’ll see.

According to the AFP, Queen Elizabeth will be watching her pennies and pound notes vigorously in 2009 because of the weak economy and credit crunch gripping the UK. She has always been a bit of a tightwad; I’m guessing some of that World War II mentality of making do has never left her. I’ve read that she insists on 40-watt bulbs in palace lamps and eats meals out of Tupperware. And we all know that the richest people on earth — the Queen being one of them — are usually not the ones out on shopping sprees.

I was trying to imagine something this morning. What if the Daily Mail or some British women’s mag were able to sit the Queen down and get her to share her top 10 frugal tips for surviving 2009? What would they look like?

#10: Nix that gym membership. “Walking the corgis is a more pleasant cardiovascular endeavor, especially when you have the acreage I have,” the Queen says. “I also ask my family to walk to church on Christmas morning. I do take the Rolls myself, but insist that Phillip and Sophie carpool with me.”

#9: Never drive the car when you can ride a horse. “My daughter Anne and her daughter Zara have taken this advice to heart,” the Queen says, pride evident in her voice. “The Range Rover burns too much petrol, don’t you think? And the Royal Footmen are such dears at picking up all the manure for our gardens.”

#8: Carriage-pool. “You’ll never see a Royal carriage half-full on my birthday or during a state visit,” the Queen insists. “We pack as many will fit comfortably in there.” Don’t like your carriage buddies? “That can be a problem,” the Queen admits. “I’ve had to share a carriage with some American presidents, Tony Blair, and that Sarkozy character — dreadful people, really — so I just turn to the crowds and wave. It takes my mind off the whole ordeal.”

#7: Live off the land. “My backyard is filled with deer, pheasant — all sorts of delicious game birds — and my son keeps a spectacular garden at his place. He’s always coming over here with organic this-and-that, including these yummy-scrummy chocolate butterscotch biscuits. There’s really no need to waste money eating out, unless you’re invited to someone else’s state banquet. Isn’t there some saying about giving a man a fish? We gave our children guns and taught them to hunt. Saved us a bloody fortune, it has.”

#6: Reach for water instead of a cocktail. “My mother always liked a drink, sometimes ten. I read about my grandchildren spending thousands of pounds at Mahiki and Whisky Mist. It’s enormously frustrating to me because a refreshing glass of icy cold Scottish spring water is far less expensive and much better for you. Look at how my skin glows; I’m pushing 90! Plus there’s enormous markup on alcohol at clubs.” She shakes her head in dismay. “It’s appalling.”

#5: Use found objects for millinery. The Queen smiles slyly whilst admitting this penny-pinching trick. “My newest daughter-in-law often does this. No need to spend a fortune at Phillip Treacy on some fascinator you’ll never wear again when you can pin a little frou-frou you found in a spare closet at Birkhall on your head.”

#4: Make your motto Recycle, Repair, Reuse. “When Windsor burned in ‘92, you’ll notice we didn’t tear it all down and start from scratch, which is what that Posh Spice would have done,” the Queen says with a regal sniff.

#3: Get free invites to movie premieres and theatre openings. “I’ve seen Quantum of Solace — all the Bond films, oh that Sean Connery is a devil — Harry Potter, and Calendar Girls, all for free,” the Queen says. When asked if she was able to meet Helen Mirren, a stony expression settles across Her Majesty’s face. “Next question, please.”

#2: Marry beneath yourself. “History has shown me that the best marriages are those made with the middle-class girls. Those aristocratic matches have been pricey affairs for me.” She leans forward conspiratorially and whispers, “I’m so hoping William does right by Kate.”

#1: Never buy when you can borrow. “Most of my homes, my jewels, and even the silver I eat from — I don’t actually own them. The state does! It really makes life so much easier.”

The British press worked overtime this weekend, reporting on images of Prince Edward supposedly beating his dogs with a stick during a pheasant shoot. There aren’t any pictures of the prince’s stick making contact with the dogs — it looks as if he’s trying to break up a fight — but animal rights groups think his menacing behavior with the raised stick is indicative of the cruelty behind country sports.

There’s a deep schism in British society about country sports, a favorite pastime of the aristocracy in Britain. Fox hunting, for example, was banned in England and Wales in 2004, thanks to public uproar and lobbying from animal rights groups. Now with fox hunting banned, what’s a royal to do but take aim at game birds on the estate?

The royals do love their weekend hunts. The late Princess Diana, not a hunter, was reportedly dismayed by her sons’ love of the hunt; Prince William’s girlfriend, Kate Middleton, was roundly criticized by the press and animal rights groups for shooting with Prince Charles last year. Also last year, scandal-magnet Prince Harry was accused of shooting two birds that were of a protected species.

I’m not anti-hunting. I grew up in rural northern New England, where hunting’s not a rich man’s sport. It wasn’t uncommon to go to a relative’s home and be served a steaming bowl of venison stew or braised rabbit, the meat courtesy of an uncle’s hunting expedition. Responsible hunting kept animal populations in check and filled our freezers with food. (I’ll admit though, I’m not a huge fan of venison.) I assume that the royal estates, too, are filled with deer that reproduce like, well, rabbits, and stalking keeps their populations controlled.

But the royal family doesn’t need to fill their freezers with protein for the winter, and given the strong anti-monarchist sentiment in Britain coupled with an economy in the shitter, is it the wisest move for these folks to engage in a weekend sport that pisses off the public who are supporting them? Is this their brilliant alternative to stumbling out of Whisky Mist at 2:00 a.m.? What do you think? Add your comments below.

Jonathan at Anglotopia.net has an embedded link of Queen’s 2008 Christmas message. If you’d like to see some candids of Prince Harry and some old video of wee Prince Charles, do check it out.  But for those of you who like things short and sweet, I offer a shorter version, above.

The BBC has a good overview of the history of the Queen’s Christmas message. Wow, £100,000 to produce … in the words of Jeff Spicoli, “Righteous bucks!”

Ok, so quickly, a recap of Thursday.

I started the morning by bolting upright in my Frette-sheeted bed and noticing daylight. Oh (as they say here) bollocks. It was 9:31 a.m. and I was supposed to meet our group in the lobby at 9:30 a.m. The alarm on my brand new Google phone didn’t sound at 7:00 — a much bitched-about Android flaw — and I’d been hit with a nasty case of insomnia between 1:30 and 4:30 a.m., so I flew about the room in a panic for a few minutes. The phone rang, and it was Alison. “The good news is, we’re not leaving till 10:30, so you’re safe.” Whew!

Fortified with coffee and strawberry yogurt, I headed with our group over to Lamb’s Conduit Street with the lovely Clare Dowdy, a journalist and shopping expert here in London. To be honest, I wasn’t excited about a personal shopping tour and fretted I wouldn’t come up with story ideas, but I knew after a couple minutes chatting with Dowdy that this would be fun. It was like shopping with a friend who really knows the area, and who’s eager to point out the places she knows you’ll enjoy. She pegged me for Persephone Books, which quickly earned itself £27 (3 books, all work-related), and the cafe next door that sold some interesting London-produced foods (and smelled heavenly). I was sad to see Clare go. And wonder of all wonders, I *did* get some very good story ideas.

Alison and I went our own way after this. We stopped by another bookshop, then famished, headed off to Notting Hill with my list of cookbooks and appetites. We ended up having fish and chips at the Duke of Wellington Pub, accompanied by pints of beer (Guinness for me, a lager for Alison) then made our way around the corner to Books for Cooks. I didn’t go too crazy, but I did squeal when I found The Avoca Cafe Cookbook #2, which is very hard to find in the U.S. I also purchased Pasties by Lindsey Bareham, who did the Roast Chicken books with Simon Hopkinson (books which I adore), along with the two latest Books for Cooks recipe compilations and some other book, which I’m too lazy to dig out of its sack.

Then it was off to The Travel Bookshop across the street, which I understand was the model for the shop Hugh Grant ran in Notting Hill. I am hoping the gentleman at the till was pleased we didn’t ask him any embarrassing questions about his resemblance to Hugh Grant or whether he has a girlfriend who looks like Julia Roberts. Instead, we were all about the books. Alison found me a delightful little book called Instructions for American Servicemen in Britain in 1942, a pamphlet from the U.S. government reprinted by the Bodleian Library at Oxford that dispensed little gems for our fighting men. My favorite: “The British don’t know how to make a good cup of coffee. You don’t know how to make a good cup of tea. It’s an even swap.” (Times have changed, even from the early 2000s — I’ve found some excellent coffee around the city.)

Geez it gets dark early, and we knew we had to head back to our hotel, so we caught the tube at Notting Hill Gate, first stopping at a cozy place for tea, then settled in for some work in the hotel lounge since we weren’t hungry. Suddenly it was 10:00 p.m. and we needed a quick bite. Our concierge recommended Nobu. NOBU. Um, not quite what we had in mind, so we headed to a Turkish restaurant over in Mayfair, where we ended up getting more than a meal, but some eye-widening entertainment.  On one side we had a table with a gentleman and two young ladies, a blond and a brunette, who were all three sheets to the wind. On the other side of us were two women of a certain age who were clearly entertained by the shenannigans going on next to us, and who provided amusing commentary on their drunken antics. When the blond stood up to go the bathroom, she knocked our salt shaker over. She could barely stand, never mind walk, so the guy made out with her a few minutes and she was off for the loo. The minute she was around the corner, the guy started making out with the brunette! Shocking! Then when the blond returned he snogged her some more, and they were off, not before cheerfully saying goodnight to the two older ladies who obviously hadn’t seen entertainment like this in quite some time. (Nor had I, to be honest. I live a sheltered life.) Anyway, we talked to them for awhile about Gordon Brown, Obama, tourism, and red light districts, and then ate our meal. Then it was back to the hotel — we passed Whisky Mist, where Prince Henry and company are frequently photographed, stumbling drunk on their way out; no sightings — and I actually got a great night’s sleep, but woke up with the scratchy throat.

So that was Wednesday. Now off to detail today, Thursday.