H.R.H. Victoria

More comments upon our blog, I am most pleased!. A Mr. Jeffman and Lord Likely have visited, gentlemen you are most welcome.

Wilhelm's invasion of West Cowes last night was not what might be called an overwhelming success. He enlisted the assistance of Eddie, presumably on the premise that two homicidal maniacs are better than one. This however proved to be his undoing.

Wilhelm had bribed a number of ne'er do wells from East Cowes to sail across the river in a commandeered vessel, halfway across Eddie murdered the captain of the vessel. When Wilhelm asked him why he had done this Eddie replied that it was in his nature. A fist fight then occurred between the two of them and all notions of a successful invasion were quickly lost.

A solution may be at hand as to the future concealment of the three recently deceased Fenian gentlemen currently residing in our ice house. My daughter Louise feels that they would provide excellent nutrients for the allotments at Swiss Cottage.

I have to go now as my son Arthur has just seen a meringue and is experiencing what I believe you now call 'post traumatic stress'. Stupid boy.

H.R.H. Victoria

Another new visitor!. You are most welcome Mr. Bananas.

This evening affairs of state were weighing heavily upon me, I felt the need for a little laudanum. So, I went to my medicine chest, only to find my precious tincture missing. The culprit was quickly revealed when Mr. Brown fell from his horse, it seems that he had run out of whisky. Tomorrow I will travel incognito to Newport to visit the apothecary.

It is always most interesting to make a foray in disguise, it provides the opportunity to eavesdrop upon the conversations of the hoi-polloi. Tomorrow I think that I will dress as a beggar woman.

I have to go now as Mr. Brown has just regained consciousness and is waving a claymore in a most menacing fashion. Stupid man.

H.R.H. Victoria

We are most gratified!. This evening we have received the second comment upon our blog. This came from a very kind young gentleman called Chris, which I believe is the diminutive form of Christopher. Thank you young man.

I have today invented a joke, it is this 'how may gerbils does it take to change a light bulb?' .............142, you need a large pile to stand on. Well it amused me.

I did in fact have electric lighting installed at dear Osborne in 1892. What mischief that caused!. At first we were perplexed as to why so many servants were being found dead at various locations around the house. It transpired that they had been introducing their index fingers into the newly installed 'sockets' in the belief that this was the correct way to turn the lights on.

Mr. Brown informed me today that the current level of ice in the ice house is insufficient to sustain the present state of preservation of the recently deceased Fenian gentlemen. We will therefore, with some alacrity, have to find a solution as to their future concealment.

I have to go now as my grandson Wilhelm has just invaded West Cowes. Stupid boy.

H.R.H. Victoria

Albert has decoded the unintelligible 'text message' which I did receive last night. Apparently it says "Are you up for it, rolling on the floor laughing my arse off". This still did not help my understanding until I was informed that the former section is querying the possibility of an intimate liaison, whilst the latter implies that the author is enjoying an interlude of great merriment.

I replied that I might be 'up4it' depending upon whether the author was rich, handsome and of royal blood. I did not of course mean that, but the outcome of this exchange should prove entertaining.

Last night I had to despatch Mr. Brown to deal with the Fenians and their cannon. He did this admirably, however we now have another three dead Fenians whom we have to conceal. At present they are in the ice house, until we can think of a suitable solution.

I have to go now as a horde of gerbils are careering down our very fine staircase. Beatrice I hate you. Stupid girl.

H.R.H. Victoria

As some of you may be aware I have a keen interest in art. So it was with great interest that I recently observed a certain Mr. Jeremy Paxman and a 'film crew' wandering around dear Osborne making a 'programme' for the 'television'. This 'tele-vision' sounds unpleasantly similar to Mr. Bell's 'tele-phone' and probably about as much use. Apparently this 'programme' is to be about paintings.

I trust that Mr. Paxman will not be so foolhardy as to criticise my own artistic endeavours, some of which adorn the walls of Osborne. If he does I should like to point out to him that the noses on my portraits are in the centre of the face and not protruding from the forehead, that my figures are not naked or engaged in obscure sexual practices and that there are no dead sharks anywhere. Dead prostitutes, dead Fenians yes......but definitely no dead sharks.

On the subject of dead prostitutes I am alarmed to learn that Mary Ann Nichols, Annie Chapman and Elizabeth Stride have joined forces and intend to sue Eddie for their individual and collective murders. They have adopted the title of 'The Whitechapel Three'. One sincerely hopes that they will not have to amend this name to include any more.

I have to go now as I have just noticed a banner proclaiming "Justice for the Three" flying from the flag tower. Stupid tower.

H.R.H. Victoria

Oh dear me!. Mr. Bell never fails to entertain!. This time he has surpassed himself, his latest 'invention' the 'telephone' is a thing of the most wondrous inconsequence.

In order to demonstrate his 'telephone' Mr. Bell brought with him his wife Mabel, who is as deaf as a post. If you intend to demonstrate a hearing device I would not have thought it propitious to employ the assistance of a deaf person, regardless of their nuptial kinship.

Mr. Bell's demonstration was held in the Council Room, he sat at one end and she at the other, some 30 feet away. Between them ran a wire connected at each end to a box, to each box was attached some form of ear trumpet, but much smaller ones than are customary. Mr. Bell turned a handle and cranked up his box, he then spoke into his ear trumpet and dear Mabel at the other end of the room held hers to her ear. After looking bemused for a minute or so she suddenly shrieked and dropped her ear trumpet. Mr. Bell was ecstatic, proclaiming his demonstration an unqualified success.

I did not want to tell him but the cause of Mabel's outburst was not occasioned by her being able to hear whatever he had said, but was due to her having been bitten on the ankle by one of Beatrice's gerbils.

Mr. Bell told me that he envisages a time when wires will criss-cross the country suspended between tall poles and that people will be able to talk to each other along these wires. He is of course completely mad.

I have to go now as some Fenians are dragging a cannon across the lawn. Stupid Fenians.

H.R.H. Victoria

We are most pleased!. This evening we have received our first comment upon our blog. A kind young man from Portugal called Anastacio wrote to say that he enjoyed my musings, thank you Anastacio. I too like your blog, very nice pictures.

It grieves me to say this, but Mr. Bell was of course proved right in his assumption that one day people all over the country would be talking to each other using his 'telephone'. Sometimes we here in the afterlife fail to notice things, we get stuck in our own little world, well actually rather a big world, being as it is eternity.

So, in order to catch up with the latest developments concerning Mr. Bell's invention Albert did today purchase a 'mobile phone'. It is not, as its name would suggest, capable of independent movement, which is a pity as I would have liked to see it propel itself into the nearest lake.

This evening I received a 'text message' on this contraption which read: " r u up4it ROFLMAO". What language is this?.

I have to go now as I have just noticed a cannon pointing at my window. Stupid cannon.