Oh darling, I laughed till my sides ached for a good while when Harry came bounding on my bed bringing me a tarte mirabella with notorious stories of his night before. He says he's spent all his money at Pierre Balmain on the Rue Francois 1 after he and his crowd had decided to cross the Seine by sea and not land. They talked a fine sir into lending them his boat and took off sailing into the dark. Well, you can just imagine darling, a boat load of Queens on the Seine in the dark and with no light! He tells me they bumped into more than a few harbors, which were one in the same as they kept going in circles. Round and round in merry delight, that is until the concierge came down from the Hotel steps and demanded they put an end to their merriment as the PEOPLE dining outside were NOT amused nor tres agreable with their loud behavior.
It then began to rain, and darling, you know how big Paris raindrops can be. So that they were forced to make a mad dash into l 'Escargot and instead of minding their manners and ordering potage du jour or Langoustines, as Paris is a world of fish, they kept drinking as if it were free.
Presented the cheque, they simply laughed at the maitre 'de. They'd spent all their euros drinking since morining only fine French wines at every bistro they passed. I know, darling, I told Harry they should have spent their day at the Ritz where my account is good till 2096 and all he need say is la chargez si 'il vous plait.
But, it seems they were looking for trouble and it most certainly found them as you should see Harry's bumbed up self. But, he's damn jolly about the whole thing, perhaps it's he's still drunk if not plum insane. He says two attendants came and picked him and his friends up by their shirt collars and threw them out! That's right darling, straight on their backs. Oh, how you'd think he'd be ashamed. But, not my Harry. To him, it's all fun and games.
Anyhow darling, I got such the laugh and and a sweet drink while Harry went on and on about himself.
We were listening to la musique from the radio when the BBC interrupted with news of Pirates on ships in our great oceans taking hostages for ransom of some sort or the other. Well, this image certainly was quite not the same as a boat load of Queens going in circles in the Seine.
So, darling, most definietely that put an end to our laughter, right there. I thought we'd rid our waters of these scoundrels centruies ago. It just goes to show that nothing is sacred nor does it remain the same. You've always got to be on the lookout for men in tight pants with scarves wrapped round their heads sailing on big ships in the night with no light. Thank goodness Harry was playing on the Seine, as he might well have been mistaken for a pirate were he on bigger waters. Pirate Queens, now there's a smasing fashion idea. I kid you not, watch it become all the new rage on the runways this fall. What a smart imagination one can find when they put their mind to it, you know?
Harry seems to have sobbered up quite nicely, so we're off to Maxim's for a souffle' then to St.
-Germain-des-Pres for a salade nicoise to discuss with the Du Pluex's my most lastest and marvelous idea. Yes, darling, they've found ME again. But, you know what a kick I get out of sharing, especially when they're ALL my own fabulous ideas!
Tally ho. Is that something a Pirate might say?
-Jacqueline
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
MY ROYAL ENGLAND
I was just running 'bout as fast as I could once I 'arrived' in England, as it had come to mind during my journey over that never could I wear anything of Lady Diana's as all her gowns in reflection seemed so frumpy and 80s which never would do for someone as splendid as me. So I dialed up my favortie British dressmakers and had them meet me at the castle. Oh, darling, I just cannot tell you the fun that was had. Dresses and dresses thrown round the room with us all falling to the bed in mounds and mounds of tafetta and silk layered in laughter.
Anyhow, I chose from Stella a marvelous creation hot from her pressing rooms. Low cut, but not too, as I didn't want to bow before the Queen and subject her to my bosom of lust. The dress is so terribly me, and Stella said I should call it my own. How dear of her, truly, to care for me so. Well, anyway darling, it's so classic and sleek, sleeveless and fitting like a glove in a light shade of royal blue. I chose no hat, as I wanted all to see my radiant smile when the moment came that I be titled.
Lizbeth herself dialed my room letting me know she was awaiting my arrival in the ballroom below. I know, darling, I really shouldn't call her by Lizbeth, but we're such intimate friends that I call her this pet name, and in return she's allowed to call me Jackie; and commoners you know aren't to call her anything at all, let alone Queen, that is unless they are in crowd and saying, "God save the Queen."
So in keeping with protocol and for the sake of my title, lets us refer to her as
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Well, she made a stoic speech about ALL that I've contributed to the commonwealth and therefore shall now and forever hold the title: Lady Jacqueline. Of course it was a crowning moment in my life, but I rather doubt I'll use the title unless I've got to throw it round to get
MY WAY.
We're spending the evening in her private suites, as Phillip is at Broadmor hunting fox this week. I only can hope that my dinner's not bland as you know the royals and their bad taste when it comes to a fine meal. Hopefully there'll be loads of jam to spread over everything dry, as truly darling, whenever I'm visiting her house it's the only way I can muster through. Odd, isn't it, how the British loathe flavor to their food? So it's no wonder their fascination with crumpets- dead bread. Perhaps its they feel guilty having so much while the commoners go without, and it's their darling way of attempting to reach out to the PEOPLE that they are one and the same, but not really.
I'll be in a hurry to amuse her with my latest travels as I'm meeting Lady Brett, Lady Olivia and Lady Anne to run from the castle and have a car drive us to club 3020 where we can get rip roaring smashed and laugh over our new titles. You didn't think I was the only one, did you, darling? Oh, heavens no. There are so many of us contributing to the commonwealth with our good deeds of greeting PEOPLE with good cheer. Truly darling, there's nothing more to it than that. Allowing yourself to be entertained in all the right places and being damn jolly about the whole nonsense of it all. Well, that and keeping thin.
And certainly, there's no volunteer work to it, as our Queen would never expect Ladies to work
FOR FREE.
-Jacqueline
Anyhow, I chose from Stella a marvelous creation hot from her pressing rooms. Low cut, but not too, as I didn't want to bow before the Queen and subject her to my bosom of lust. The dress is so terribly me, and Stella said I should call it my own. How dear of her, truly, to care for me so. Well, anyway darling, it's so classic and sleek, sleeveless and fitting like a glove in a light shade of royal blue. I chose no hat, as I wanted all to see my radiant smile when the moment came that I be titled.
Lizbeth herself dialed my room letting me know she was awaiting my arrival in the ballroom below. I know, darling, I really shouldn't call her by Lizbeth, but we're such intimate friends that I call her this pet name, and in return she's allowed to call me Jackie; and commoners you know aren't to call her anything at all, let alone Queen, that is unless they are in crowd and saying, "God save the Queen."
So in keeping with protocol and for the sake of my title, lets us refer to her as
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Well, she made a stoic speech about ALL that I've contributed to the commonwealth and therefore shall now and forever hold the title: Lady Jacqueline. Of course it was a crowning moment in my life, but I rather doubt I'll use the title unless I've got to throw it round to get
MY WAY.
We're spending the evening in her private suites, as Phillip is at Broadmor hunting fox this week. I only can hope that my dinner's not bland as you know the royals and their bad taste when it comes to a fine meal. Hopefully there'll be loads of jam to spread over everything dry, as truly darling, whenever I'm visiting her house it's the only way I can muster through. Odd, isn't it, how the British loathe flavor to their food? So it's no wonder their fascination with crumpets- dead bread. Perhaps its they feel guilty having so much while the commoners go without, and it's their darling way of attempting to reach out to the PEOPLE that they are one and the same, but not really.
I'll be in a hurry to amuse her with my latest travels as I'm meeting Lady Brett, Lady Olivia and Lady Anne to run from the castle and have a car drive us to club 3020 where we can get rip roaring smashed and laugh over our new titles. You didn't think I was the only one, did you, darling? Oh, heavens no. There are so many of us contributing to the commonwealth with our good deeds of greeting PEOPLE with good cheer. Truly darling, there's nothing more to it than that. Allowing yourself to be entertained in all the right places and being damn jolly about the whole nonsense of it all. Well, that and keeping thin.
And certainly, there's no volunteer work to it, as our Queen would never expect Ladies to work
FOR FREE.
-Jacqueline
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
QUICK TYPE
Just in from the sand and need another quick nap before I'm on to tonight's adventure, where ever that shall be. I've lost Harry. Has he lost his senses? What about me? Surely, he hasn't left without me. What bother, I simply must rest. I'll worry about that spot when I get there.
The last little nap on the sea wasn't about me. The darling young couple next to me had their little radio on too loud and though I love listening to Chet Baker, really, darling, there is such a thing called protocol on the beach. We mustn't be so loud when others are sunbathing. You never are quite certain of what all they've been through.
Dialed up Babette only to hear her voice message which says that she is busy and I may be interrupting her.
WHAT?
I need a pill. This day simply has been too dreadful for me.
-Jacqueline
The last little nap on the sea wasn't about me. The darling young couple next to me had their little radio on too loud and though I love listening to Chet Baker, really, darling, there is such a thing called protocol on the beach. We mustn't be so loud when others are sunbathing. You never are quite certain of what all they've been through.
Dialed up Babette only to hear her voice message which says that she is busy and I may be interrupting her.
WHAT?
I need a pill. This day simply has been too dreadful for me.
-Jacqueline
TRAGIC EVENT: THE FITZGERALDS
Oh, darling, barely can I type on this corona no. 3 in my lap with the sand between my toes and the warm sun glowing down on my bathing body. Yes, in my smashing black one piece Chanel; your favorite. Oh, and what with the quiet noise from the mediterranean sea calling out to me, how ever do I do it? I must, must soldier on. It's income, you know? Though the King of Spain writes me not to worry about such trivial things, such as euros and deadlines. He tells me to give up my post!!!!!!! What? Doesn't he understand that I'm a woman of modern lust. I just must; everything's a must. Oh, I'll give him a dial later this afternoon up in my suite. You know, just to let him know how I'm thinking of him so.
So tragic that I MUST report to the Post what with such beauty tempting me like crumpets on silver. Jam? Oh, darling, not this morning, please, the thought turns my stomach right round and then back again. Needless to say, I've got a crashing headsore from traveling 'cross the Atlantic last night. Thank goodness for Harry, he's mixed me up quite a cocktail and assures me that in no time at all I'll be back to myself. Perhaps if I can get the house help to bring round some Kosher salt for my rim, I'd be liking this drink a tad more. So dull as is. Harry says putting on a good one just as the night before relieves one of not only the head pounding but anything vulgar you might have spoken the night before. Cetainly nothing vulgar passed my lips. It's the others I mourn so for.
Thank goodness for Harry.
God save the Queen(s).
In any event, the evening spent at Lady Elloise's grand party aboard her big liner (ship, you know) was so very tragic no matter the way I look at it this morning, even under my sun hat. Scads of Americans. That, was tragedy in itself. It's one thing to be on board with the lot, but such rot one is subjected to once they begin to speak of themselves. And, you know, darling, that is ALL they do: speak only of their selves. How very unproper. Where did they NOT learn their manners?
Is it truly any wonder they call Fitzgerald their hero? Oh, it's killing me, the thought. Sadly, I simply haven't a thing to report, as I've been smashed by Americans all through the night. Surely, darling, you understand the dilemma. I'm brain dead after such a tragic event.
Perhaps Harry will be a good sport when I awake after my nap and have planned something gay for us to do this evening. Something I CAN REPORT TO YOU. Perhaps he can round us up a few Iranians or something of the sort. I hear there's much to report on what's happening in their little world. God forbid any of them wear towels on their heads. I just couldn't take it. So unfashionable, you know? Truly, someone needs to do something about that situation of theirs. Are they not aware of spring hats? Really.
-Jacqueline
So tragic that I MUST report to the Post what with such beauty tempting me like crumpets on silver. Jam? Oh, darling, not this morning, please, the thought turns my stomach right round and then back again. Needless to say, I've got a crashing headsore from traveling 'cross the Atlantic last night. Thank goodness for Harry, he's mixed me up quite a cocktail and assures me that in no time at all I'll be back to myself. Perhaps if I can get the house help to bring round some Kosher salt for my rim, I'd be liking this drink a tad more. So dull as is. Harry says putting on a good one just as the night before relieves one of not only the head pounding but anything vulgar you might have spoken the night before. Cetainly nothing vulgar passed my lips. It's the others I mourn so for.
Thank goodness for Harry.
God save the Queen(s).
In any event, the evening spent at Lady Elloise's grand party aboard her big liner (ship, you know) was so very tragic no matter the way I look at it this morning, even under my sun hat. Scads of Americans. That, was tragedy in itself. It's one thing to be on board with the lot, but such rot one is subjected to once they begin to speak of themselves. And, you know, darling, that is ALL they do: speak only of their selves. How very unproper. Where did they NOT learn their manners?
Is it truly any wonder they call Fitzgerald their hero? Oh, it's killing me, the thought. Sadly, I simply haven't a thing to report, as I've been smashed by Americans all through the night. Surely, darling, you understand the dilemma. I'm brain dead after such a tragic event.
Perhaps Harry will be a good sport when I awake after my nap and have planned something gay for us to do this evening. Something I CAN REPORT TO YOU. Perhaps he can round us up a few Iranians or something of the sort. I hear there's much to report on what's happening in their little world. God forbid any of them wear towels on their heads. I just couldn't take it. So unfashionable, you know? Truly, someone needs to do something about that situation of theirs. Are they not aware of spring hats? Really.
-Jacqueline
Saturday, April 18, 2009
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