Happy Birthday, Old Sock

Well, this has always been a Queen-friendly blog, smirk. And being as she's 80, I didn't feel I could let such an auspicious occasion pass me by: Although to be honest, I would have remained blissfully unaware of this fact had I not randomly flicked Sky News on yesterday morning and seen her cavorting on one of her many expanses of lawn with lots of little fat corgis and dorgis (which are not, as I briefly wondered, "doggies" said through a mouthful of marbles, but in fact very cute Corgi/Daschund crosses. Who knew?) Yeah, it was the dogs that did it. She wouldn't have got a post on my blog if she'd have been hanging out with her horses, that's for sure. Or, for that matter, her children.

Truth be told, unlike pretty much everyone I know, I've always had a softer spot for HM than most members of my generation. Probably got my mother to "thank" for that, when she thrust a "Young Royals" commemorative album into my hands one boring family holiday many years ago (my brother got Desperate Dan) I guess at the tender age of 7 I'd been deemed too ancient for "Twinkle". Anyway. I know I'm going to get shouted at for this, particularly from any readers of Antipodean origin, but I've always actually felt a bit sorry for the Queen: What with being married off to a rather unpleasant man; sister got to party while she had to be a figurehead; saddled with a bunch of ungrateful irresponsible spawn who have enjoyed the pleasures she was always denied; no scope for any sort of emotional development. On top of that, she gets stared at the whole time, forced to interact with lots of boring/irritating people and doesn't get to crash in front of the TV ever, rather sit through hours of opera, experimental dance etc. (Which I appreciate in small doses, don't get me wrong. But still.) Poor love. So I'm even quite glad she has "dorgis" to give her something to smile about.

And the other reason you just got 2 paragraphs about the Queen is because I do not currently possess neither strength nor inclination to write up my Passover adventures. At least, not until the visiting family have left and more importantly, the North American Invasion of West Jerusalem ends... Insh'alla, next week. Oh, how I long for the days of old, when I could step out of my office without stepping over the screaming choruses of tourists, and thereby being privy to their minute-by-minute itineraries (which they seem compelled to recount to each other at unnatural volume within my earshot, not realising that I DON'T CARE where they'll be catching their cab from, where they're meeting their cousins for lunch, what rate they got at the change place.) And while I acknowledge that this influx of visitors is presumably wonderful for the local economy (read -the airline company, the hotels, restaurants, and lets not forget those gift shops which slimily "Welcome Brave Tourists") I personally would prefer to not have to experience it quite as directly. And indeed, why are they SO DAMN LOUD? Are they under the impression that all Jerusalem residents have hearing problems? Well I certainly have some now, after their inconsiderate noise pollution! I could even rate my top ten most irritating things I've heard yelled within five feet over the last week, and in which accents. But I won't. Because this post is supposed to be about the Queen.

Ok- back to toasting Her Majesty- be it with a raised glass of Sherry, lightly over an open fire, or to the tune of the Sex Pistols: May she live to be 120.

- And while we're doing requests, may I regain my hearing. And soon.