So I broke into the Palace
With a sponge and a rusty spanner
She said ‘Eh, I know you and you cannot sing’
I said ‘That’s nothing
You should hear me play piano’
The Smiths, 1986
Her Maj: One is ready for bed. Are we all locked in?
Security: We certainly are, Ma’am. Will there be anything else?
Her Maj: Neo, not today. Has that ghastly racket stopped yet?
Security: Not for a while, I’m afraid. Some of them are playing from the roof, apparently.
Her Maj: What a frightful bore. Don’t they have homes to go to?
Security: Most of them do, Ma’am, but not as good as yours.
Her Maj : No, of course not. Run along then, quickly now.
Security: G’night, Ma’am.
Her Maj: Yes, yes! (shuts door, slips into Liberty-print nightie and turns on radio)
‘…and what a glittering spectacle of an evening it has been. A firmament of stars, raising their voices in unison to celebrate the Queen’s 60 years of unwavering devotion to her nation…’
Her Maj: Balls! Wretched little man. Hasn’t got a clue.
‘…as the Palace is transformed into an everyday street with a magnificent light show, and Madness perform ‘Our House’ from the rooftops. Incredible!’
Her Maj: And what, pray, is the point of that? If one wanted to live in a street, one would bloody well have bought one.
(switches off radio. there is a cough from behind the curtain)
Is that you, Philip? I’m afraid the singers are still on, dear, you’ll have to go back to the Edward VII. Tell them your pee’s red again.
Who’s there? Come on out, damn you!
Nuy look here! One is getting a little fed up with this nonsense. Are you one of those oiks from the roof? If so, you can get your Cor Blimey trousers on and scram. There’s nothing for you here. Nothing, one tells you.
It’s not you, is it, Michael? I’m afraid there’s no wine left after the last time and we sent your shoes back in 1984. And all that grubbing about in the papers, really! I thought we had an agreement?
Are you from the Idle Hour? Well, are you? Now listen, the jubilee burgers were perfectly adequate and we settled the bill in full. We’d be grateful if you would consider seating us away from the traps next time and perhaps we just might tip more substantially. Is that what this is about? Come on, Mr Nibs, show yourself, man!
(moves closer to the curtain and throws it back to reveal….)
Her Maj: Elton!!!
Sir Elton: It’s Sir Elton, Ma’am. Remember?
Her Maj: Wawrt are you doing here?
Sir Elton: I’m just teaching that Morrissey a lesson. Think he’ll find not only can I sing but also tickle them ivories a treat. And where’s he for your big day then?
Her Maj: Isn’t he on the roof?
Sir Elton: That’s Madness, Ma’am.
Her Maj: Not arf!