DEAR YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS an' him: it a source o' great pussonal mis'ry where I ain't gonna be able to make de nuptials, but havin' a full diary is one o' de bugbears o' bein' a nob, as Your Royal Highness knowin' damn well, an' him gonna find out pretty soon, now he got de feet under de table. Bin leafin' through de Boots Desk item fo' 1973, an' it turnin' out I got a lunch on November 14 wid de Ngumbi Rotarians, also de plummer comin' in aroun' four pee em on account o' de cracked pan, not to mention it de Ludo night down de Kampala Sportin' Club; so it absolutely clear to de entire word where I findin' it impossible to fit in de Abbey business, irrespeckertive o' de fac' dat de invite gittin' mysteriously lost in transit, an' if I find de Uganda PO employee responsible, he gonna wind up wid his clef' stick stuck in de middle o' Amin Park an' his head wobblin' on top o' same.
Here de point to say to de happy couple: many thanks fo' de warm invitation, even tho' I ain't got it, maybe it comin' in de nex' post, in which case it could be I turnin' up fo' de coffee an' plus fours, but I ain't promisin' nothing dis Ludo final bein' de high point o' de social season, also a needle match, to boot.
Lotta people goin' roun' saying Hope dey ain't no hard feelin's between you an' de Princess due to you bein' turned down in favour o' dis Mark Fillet pusson, wot only gittin' to be a captain on account o' poppin' de question while all de senior officers over in Ulster; way I hear it, de Queen strollin' past de nursery one evenin' when Fillet down on de one knee, an' she pokin' de crown roun' de door an' yellin' "You better snap dis one up, girl, all de brigadiers etcetera gone to Belfast, can't tell when they comin' back an' you not gittin' any younger, tell you what I'll do, I'll bang him up to captain, dat de final offer, can't say fairer than that, an' I wouldn't go that far, 'cept we got de Gloucesters comin' down fo' Christmas, an' I need de room." Well, I takin' de point, an' I got no grouse about gittin' passed over fo' dis one-pip character, matter o' fac' I withdrawin ' de original proposal wot I makin ' in de se pages, after de Princess not gittin' picked fo' de Olympics. Only askin' her on account of- maybe de Uganda flag gittin' up de Munich pole, anyone say different gonna find hisself down de taxidermist.
O' course, Your Royal Highness, dat ain't to say I out o' de runnin' permanent; we gittin' a lot o' top-class fillums down de Kampala Roxy, an' it seemin' to me dat in ninety per cent o' cases, it de bloke wot walkin' away f'om de church wid de trenchcoat collar turned up an' de tear in de eye wot finally endin' up wid de crumpet in question. It only a matter o' time befo' she twiggin' dat de bridegroom hittin' de sauce, grabbin' de o pair, an' only marryin' her fo' de loot, an' pretty soon she leggin' it in de general direction o' de trenchcoat wid a view to pourin' out de bosom an' gittin' enfolded in de strong arms an' so forth. Jus' so's you know dat de fust time ol' Fillet ring up to say he gonna be late back f'om de stables on account o' de chessnut filly goin' down wid de croup, I gonna be here wid de strong arms at de ready.
Dam' good job I turnin' down de invite, on second thoughts, fo' de other reason wot only just occurrin' to me, i.e. suppose I sittin' there in de front row wid all de medals an' de new teef an' de strong manly fingers claspin' de hymn-book, an' Your Royal Highness beltin' down de aisle an' makin' fo' de alter when she catch sight o' de Amin profile wid de warm grin on it, wot happenin' then? Could be a uggerly scene where you leapin' off of de red carpet an' hurlin' yourself at me, overcome wid de passion etcetera. Jus' as well I stickin' to de Ludo.
Wot de hell happenin' to de bloody pos'man?
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