Sophie’s Special Mission and Prince George


 Hello Fans

 Once again apologies to all those who’ve been waiting with baited breath for the next instalment of my diary. Inevitably there was a delay during Wimbledon because my IT consultant (Grandad) was watching TV non-stop: he spends most of his life watching or playing tennis. But that still leaves a gap of 3 weeks or so. SO – what have I been doing? 

Well, dear fans, your Sophie has been engaged on a SECRET MISSION – that can only NOW be revealed.  It might give you a clue if I say it involved an affair of immense pubic (Grandad says I missed out an ‘l’ in that word ?) interest. Have you guessed yet? 

That’s right, Sophie received a summons from the Palace. They wanted me to pack my bags and move in with Kate and Will to advise them on the birth of their baby. Because I don’t know if you’re aware of this but the Duchess of Cambridge has been pregnant. YES, it’s true, and now the sprog’s been born, and my job’s done, I can be released into the community – as it were.  There’s hardly been a thing about this pregnancy and birth in the newspapers, has there? 

Anyway Sophie (I’ve got used to speaking about myself in the 3rd person, just like the Royals) found Kate charming company, but a bit limited intellectually. Obviously it’s difficult keeping up with a sophisticated style guru like me.  

Grandad had also been invited as a sort of chaperone and because he’s an international authority on child rearing, and author of Grandad’s Tips for Bringing up Kids 

Grandad soon won over Will, putting him right on a few educational matters, and sympathising with him about his philistine of a father. I did my best to keep Grandad off politics, especially his views on the abolition of the monarchy – and failed.

 Kate wanted to know what she could expect from George in the early years and things like should she send him to a private school or a pubic one?  I said definitely a pubic one because he had to learn to mix with girls, and the common people.  I mean Royals have to have the common touch, don’t they?  How else was he going to learn all those swear words – like Prunella and me. The ones that all those common people use? And, of course, he needs a grounded education in sex, drugs and rock n’ roll (like Uncle Harry). 

He’ll be OK for fashion advice ‘cos he’s got Camilla, and Becks.  Perhaps he’ll adopt the Becks sarong style when he grows up? 

Natch, I congratulated her on naming the baby after Peppa Pig’s brother.  I like the name George but I thought she could have gone for something posher. Wayne or Shane perhaps? Jason maybe? Or Justin (as in Justin Bieber – I’ve forgiven the Beaver, he’s back in favour [see earlier blog]). 

As I sat by Kate’s bedside, holding her hand, and urging her to push harder (Wills was nowhere to be seen, frankly he’s a bit of a wuss) I thought: Why me? Why did she summon little old me in her hour of need.  And then I thought it’s obvious.  She’d clearly heard about my sympathetic, empathetic manner.  You see, I do DO empathy.  If it’s empathising you want, I’m your girl (Mummy keeps saying, ‘I’m old beyond my 5¾ years’).  

And, of course, there was no-one else she could turn to – apart from Kate Burley [Sky News] and who’d want La Burley manically screaming, ‘IT’S A BOY, IT’S A BOY!!!’ 

It was nice having Grandad’s company.  Mind you, he had to embarrass me, didn’t he?  You see, he’s a great fan of 50s musicals, and when George finally entered the world, kicking and struggling, mewling and puking, Grandad – with a silly smirk on his face – leans over Kate’s bed and says, ‘Kiss me Kate!’ 

You can’t take him anywhere.  Next, he’ll be trying to sell his story to Hello magazine, taking all the credit from me, saying it was all down to him – and then posting a derisive letter to the Guardian deploring all the media hype! 

One question remains: How did Kate get to hear about me and my famed EMPATHY? Mummy wondered if Grandad (my hopeless IT consultant) had somehow hacked into Kate’s Facebook page. 

‘Grandad?’, I hooted. ‘Grandad? He couldn’t hack into a Jiffy bag with a carving knife!  I had to explain how you turn the computer off. ‘What?’ he said, disbelievingly. ‘You click on the START button?’  

‘Well, I admit, it’s counter-intuitive, Grandad, but that’s Microsoft engineers for you’. 

You would think with all these Royal duties to distract Grandad and me, we’d have no time for more serious matters.  You’d be wrong.  Grandad found he didn’t have to visit Waitrose and spend £5 a day to get the Times, Guardian, Telegraph, and Mail free. He just put them on Kate and Wills account. 

‘You get the Mail, Grandad?’ I said skeptically. 

‘Yes, Sophie – in case Kate and Wills run out of loo paper.’ 

Last week he was cock-a-hoop over the ‘wonderful’ 6th form boys at Whitchurch High School, Cardiff.  They’re the ones who wore skirts ‘cos the headmaster banned them wearing shorts!

‘They’re brave lads,’ said Grandad. ‘In this unexpected heat-wave, taking a stand against high-handed, autocratic tyranny.   Reminds me of the Reverend George Whitfield, that hypocritical bastard of a headmaster who made my school life a misery!!’ 

Hello, I thought, Grandad’s off again.  I think he was a bit of a rebel at school. 

‘They’re very brave. They should be given the George medal [very appropriate for this week, Grandad] not hauled over the coals.  As they said, if girls can wear skirts, why can’t they wear shorts?  They’re also brave,’ he said, ‘because when I was at school, I’d have been a laughing stock if I’d worn shorts in the 2nd year let alone the 6th.  It was a badge of shame.’ 

I was with Grandad on this: if boys wore skirts – or shorts – we’d be able to admire their legs and wolf whistle.  Assuming they had nice legs, of course.  If they didn’t we’d just giggle at them (girls don’t laugh, they giggle).  Perhaps the ones with nice legs could give Becks’ sarongs a twirl? 

A report in the Times and the Mail also had Grandad going mental.  

‘Packed lunches lead to childhood obesity!!!’ screamed the headlines. 

‘No they don’t!!!’ screamed Grandad.  ‘Packed lunches packed with fatty, sugary food lead to childhood obesity – and if they’d said that after the headline, it would have been OK but they didn’t!  School meals have certainly improved thanks to Saint Jamie, not any Government initiative.  And they sacked Jamie because he said they weren’t spending enough money.’

I agreed with Grandad – it’s easier.  

‘My Mum,’ said Grandad, wiping a way a tear, ‘Bless her cotton socks, used to send me to school with a packed lunch every day full of nutritional food, fruit, greenstuffs, eggs, meat.  And that was from the 3rd year right up to the 6th.  Mind you, I had to nag at her for a couple of years, complain about how bad the school food was. For ‘elevensies’ she used to give me 2 slices of cold toast with Marmite and I’d be the envy of all my classmates. They’d try and bribe me to get a slice of toast.’ 

Even at a young age, Grandad was quite a gourmet.  As he reminisced, a misty look came over his eyes. 

He also praised a report in the Times by John Naish about how scientists had discovered that ‘speed-eating’ – described as ‘endemic’ – was leading to obesity (‘rather than packed lunches,’ said Grandad).  It claimed we (not Grandad and our family) eat our meals nearly twice as fast as we did a decade ago.  This is at home, as well as those fast food outlets like MacDonalds.  Half the 2,000 Britons surveyed said they wanted to do other things [‘there are more pleasurable things than eating a meal?’ said Grandad incredulously]; a third said thay could barely taste what they eat [‘in that case, go the whole hog, and starve,’ growled Grandad]; a fifth said they never ate at a table [‘off a plate with Fido on the floor?’ enquired Grandad].  And many, of course, regularly eat in front of the TV.   Grandad said they should read his book, Grandad’s Tips for Bringing up Kids, where he talks about the benefits to family life (and kids’ educational progress) of turning the TV off and eating together at the table.  

‘As long as all discussion of politics is banned when Grandad’s brother joins us for a meal,’ said Mummy.  There are always heated arguments when they get together – so it’s certainly not speedy eating for them!!  Grandad says his brother is right of Ghengis Khan and his brother accuses him of being a wishy-washy, namby-pamby, bleeding-heart, Guardian-reading, liberal do-gooder. 

We just sit on the sidelines and laugh. 

Well, that’s all folks. I’ll update next time on all my continuing Royal commitments.  I know how starved you must be for news of Kate, Wills and Georgie-Porgie.  


SOPHIE – do you like my funky font? Specially for James!



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