Background

Here’s an article I found fading away in a bottom drawer folder on my hard drive.  I wrote it late-2014, just before I started my web blog.  It concerns His Royal Highness Prince George of Cambridge, the first born child of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, or Wills and Kate as I like to think of them.

Just before Christmas 2014, Wills and Kate released three photographs of baby George and the media went berserk—chubby, beautiful, love the jumper, where’d he get those socks, born to be King, that sort of stuff.  I found this all mildly amusing but was somewhat dismayed that there was no written report on baby George’s development over the first eighteen months of his life and, accordingly, I penned a diary entry.  Here it is…

Prince George of Cambridge, official Christmas photos, 2014

George’s Diary

Hi, this is Kate with our annual update on baby George (born to be King).  Wills has had to go out—he’s off shooting a rhino, with a camera fer Chrissakes, with a camera—so I have the task of writing this as-you-will-see fascinating update on baby George.

We thought that on this glorious frosty sunny morning we would share with you the latest pictures of our gorgeous baby boy, born to be king, and enthral you with his progress since the momentous day of his birth in July 2013.

Well, what to say?  George (born to be King), our bonny bouncing boy, is nearly eighteen months old.  Eighteen months!  It doesn’t seem possible that he has graced us with his gurgles, his slobber and dribbles, and his adorable way of taking out and replacing the silver spoon he carries in his mouth all the time.  He now walks, well toddles royally is probably a better way to describe how he moves around, and the ever-ready nannies (we have two, one from Poland, the other from Romania, lovely girls, ex-Big Issue sellers) accompany him everywhere he goes and are always ready to pick him up, dust him down, and replace the spoon.

We want to let you know as well that George (born to be King), our beautiful amazing captivating beguiling little boy and passport to untold wealth and gracious living, has already started speaking.  His first words were, ‘What is cake, Mummy?’  (He calls me Mummy rather than Duchy which is what I would prefer.)  When I told him, he replied, ‘Let them eat it then.’   Such charm.  Such wit.  Such  wisdom beyond his years already.

On potty training, or commode tuition as we call it, George (born to be King) is doing well.  Gorgeous Georgie is being taught the value of royal waste by his Aunt Pippa, her of the pert derrière damn it.   Auntie Pips suggested that sometime in the future, solid freeze-dried deodorised specimens of George’s bodily rejects will become useful centre pieces and accoutrements at parties and she has set aside a room in her Parson’s Green apartment in which to store the specimens.  It brings a new meaning to the saying, ‘Where there’s muck, there’s brass.’

I would also like to report that Gorgeous Georgie (born to be Kingie) gets on very well with his royal great grandma.  Actually, she’s quite relaxed with him.  She grants him an audience every other Tuesday afternoon between 2:30 and 2:45.  They talk, or play with her jewels, or count the cornflakes in her Tupperware container.  Recently ‘Cabbage’ (damn that Helen Mirren film) caught George (born to be King) smoothing one of her corgi dogs.  The dog was okay afterwards—George (born to be King) can be rough, it’s a royal trait—but Busy Lizzie, as George calls his great grandma, had to warn GPPP (Georgie Porgy Pudding and Pie), as she calls him, that patting a royal corgi is a privilege awarded only to those who’ve received royal assent and, as such, GPPP (born to be Kay Eye En Gee) is not yet old enough to appreciate the honour.  Busy Lizzie sent GPPP (BTBK) to his royal naughty spot for ten of his fifteen allotted royal audience minutes.  He threw all his toys out of the pram but hung on to the silver spoon.

But, be that as it may.  As you can see in the photographs, His Royal Highness Prince George of Cambridge, third in line to the British throne and destined to become King George VII (yippee!), is progressing as well as can be expected.  He is not overwhelmed by the pampering he receives, well not yet, and he is looking forward to this coming Christmas.  I’m not sure what Wills has bought him—maybe a small island (thanks tax payers!) or a trip into space in the first Richard Branson rocket (that’ll be a royal first, and possibly last)—but I’ll be delivering him the most wonderful present of all, a baby brother or sister in May next year.  Little does he know; he’s about to lose some of the limelight but, hey, he can’t have it all.  Oops, oh yes he can.  He’s royalty, born to be King, and that says it all.

Happy Christmas,

Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge and forever grateful for all the money British tax payers contribute to my gracious living.

An intimate moment in the bath.
Courtesy of You, Hello, and Closer publications.