IT BIN brung to my notice dat de well-known Evening Standard bin givin' prominence to de main question hangin' over de comin' Royal nuptials, i.e. is it true dat de Uganda Special Commemorative Issue stamp gonna have Idi Amin on it along wid de voluptuous P. Anne an' her obnoxious steady, Lieut. Mark Phillips?
Natcherly, Fleet Street gittin' it all cocked up again. De only thing bein' asked down de Kampala Post Office paintshop is: who we gonna have on de Uganda Special Commemorative Issue stamp along wid Dr. Idi Amin, VC, Ammiral an' wit? If de work reckon we gonna put out a stamp showin' nothin' but some skinny white item in a soldier's hat grinnin' at his ole woman, it got another think comin' - de loyal subjecks git a squint at somethin' like that lookin' back at 'em off a envelope, fust thing they gonna reckon is there bin another coo an' de whole show bin took over by some teenage honky wid only one pip. What's for sure is dis Phillips person ain't figurin' on de stamp at all, whoever else gonna be on it: it bad enuff she turnin' me down, widout de final selection gittin' his head endorsed by de losin' party. Put all three of us on de same gummy oblong, de loyal subjecks gonna start asking one another why de Great White Princess F'om Across De Ocean preferrin' de Lieutenant to de Field Marshal, every-one gonna reckon I got de aflete's foot or de halitosis or de dreaded overdraft, it gonna mean a sharp one in de kidneys for de ole national pride.
'Course, it only readers o' de famous Punch magazine wot knowin' I put in a bid fo' de Princess eight months back, when she still dickerin' over Richard Meade an' de present incumbent. All de papers sayin' she unable to make up de mind, an' in consequence I runnin' a eye over de four Missus Amins wid a view to determinin' who gittin' de chop in favour of de Princess. Natcherly, dis whole thing a dipperlomatic move, all about cementin' relations wid de UK, ain't got nothin' to do wid de Royal loot she bringin' to de match, altho' pussonally I wouldn't spit on it, given dat de Humber needin' a decoke an' we got damp comin' through de mornin'-room ceiling. Also I reckonin' dat de Royal parents prob'ly figurin' to kick in wid a title fo' de lucky man, an' it lookin' pretty good on de Presidential notepaper where it sayin' From De Office O' Viscount Kampala (formerly Ammiral o' de Fleet Gen'l Idi Amin, Ph.D., S.R.N., VC) , but all dat by de way.
So I puttin' in dis bid, statin' height, weight, inside leg etcetera, an' lettin' it be known I up fo' grabs. Waitin' a long time, finally gittin' a printed note sayin' de matter receiving attention, an' nex' thing I know, she announcin' dat she fixin' on dis subaltern wid de horse. It comin' as one helluva shock, specially as it ain't de fust time I gittin' beaten to de draw, wot wid Richard Burton an' Aristotle Onassis whippin' their letters in befo' I even realisin' dat de contest under way.
Anyway, it all water under de bridge now, an' I ain't harbourin' de grudge, so she prob'ly gittin' her face on de weddin' stamp somewhere. Provided, o' course, dat de whole thing ain't overtook by events, such as me gittin' married again fust, in which case de Special Commemerative job gonna come out wid jus' me an' de blushin' bride.
Nothin' fixed yet, o' course, but it look like bein' a toss up between Janie Jones an' Norma Levy.
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