I forgot Prince Charles was getting married today. Anyway on another note- my best pal Monica called to tell me she is in Glasgow ( I forgot, some mate I am!).
She is promoting property in Montreal at the Property Show in Glasgow, where Ashley is also working. I went down to the SSEC and met them both!
They did not know they were fourteen feet away from each other! Ashley was organiser the Seminar Hall or Seminal Hall as she called it!
Anyway with all this going on I forgot to watch Charles get married.
Not that I really care to be honest, I mean I hope he is happy.
Him and Camilla have been together 35 years apparently! I suppose the upper classes don’t let the married partners or other children come into the equation, if they want it they get it.
I think that’s what upset some people, it wasn’t that Charles hurt Diana ( I personally think Diana knew what she was stepping into and if Charles had a lover then Diana had fifteen for sure) I think what upset people is that Charles acted like an ass when he was annoyed his ‘public’ deigned to ‘frown’ on his relationship.
I think that ordinary people just couldn’t understand that the upper classes fuck each other in full knowledge of their partners and attend parties with your lover or even go to dinner and hang out with your lover’s husband.
I mean in real terms that’s what the ‘Utterly very lower classes or ‘chav’ culture does’ in UK. We have TV shows where the mad very low classes parade themselves on TV shows and casually tell each other in indecipherable language about how they have no shame about ‘shagging or sleeping’ with their mates and having kids to casual sexual mates, They brag about swapping with each other and downmarket magazines scream-
“I slept with my best friend’s husband the night before my wedding”

I remember the fuss and pomp at Charles and Diana’s wedding. I watched that wee telly in that old pub I used to work in back in 1981. I had only been married seven months and was swept away on the whole ‘fairytale’ of it all. I hoped they would be happy, I wanted to be that loved and that beautiful. I wanted to live in London and shop in Chelsea, I wanted to hang out in Sloane Street and buy designer shoes that were delivered to my door in beautiful bright band boxes.
I was desperate for personal hairdressers and make up artists. What a life!
I couldn’t, I was in the Calton in the East End of Glasgow, shoplifters and thieves would be my courtiers and bring shiny gifts in plastic bags lined with tin foil to divert the security systems in the big stores, my hairdresser was the wee gay guy who would come into the pub and fix my hair for me and my make up was done and taught to me by the hookers who worked in the ‘sauna brothels’ and showed me how to blend my foundation. One even showed me how to ‘cover up’
bruises.
All these years later I do often stay in Chelsea, I eat in Kings Road and get my shoes in Sloane Street, I even have my favourite hairdresser in Fulham road. It doesn’t make me glamorous at all, I never married a Prince, but I know how to cover a bruise._
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