THE STORY SO FAR: David Cameron, fifth cousin twice removed to the queen by virtue (sic) of an illegitimate birth after a dastardly Royal dalliance centuries earlier, has handed back to Her Majesty the keys to Number 10. As one Family hanger-on leaves government a Royal revolution beckons.
A limousine sweeps into Buckingham Palace
MAY: Has he gone, ma’am?
HER MAJ: Whom, young Cameron? Yes, of course he’s gorn. He bowed out backwards about five minutes ago, like all of One’s Prime Ministers eventually do, leaving a gaping hole in One’s government. So thoughtless! Don’t dither in the doorway, girl, come in and kiss One’s hand.
MAY: Did Mr Cameron mention me, ma’am?
HER MAJ: You are May, aren’t you? Yes, indeed he did say something about your being the ‘people’s choice’, whatever that might mean. But One has a better idea: One plans to change the system.
MAY: B-b-but ma’am, our parliamentary democracy has been in place for hundreds of years.
HER MAJ: Quite! And look where it has got us: One’s empire demolished by democracy, the Commonwealth full of bolshies . . . and now One will even have to kowtow to One’s distant Prussian relatives to get a visa before One can visit. No more dropping in unannounced on the Saxe-Coburgs! No, all these internet petitions and referendums simply will not do. It is time One’s Family resumed full control.
MAY: But Your Majesty, my husband and I . . .
HER MAJ: Have a care, May, that is One’s personal opening line.
MAY: Apologies, Majesty. What I meant to say is that Mr May and I have already rented out our house in Kent to the Trumps through HeirBnB and we have begun moving into Number 10.
HER MAJ: Ugh! Leaky, horrible little town house teeming with cats! Go right ahead, May. Upon the recommendation of One’s fifth cousin twice removed (distaff side of the Family, y’know) One’s plans for appointing One’s government certainly include you, Prime Minister. [Claps hands twice] Bring in One’s government, Lord Chamberlain!
[Enter an assortment of Royals] Philippe, meet One’s new Prime Minister [Aside to Mrs May] One imagines One’s consort will make an excellent Foreign Secretary. .
PRINCE PHILIP: Bloody hell! A woman?!!
HER MAJ: . . .with all the diplomacy that years of experience can bring.
MAY: I rather had Boris Johnson in mind, Majesty.
PRINCE PHILIP: Boris-bloody-Pfeffel-bloody-Johnson?! Bloody Turkish scion of George ll’s whore!!
MAY: Another family connection, Majesty?
HER MAJ: Distaff side again, One is pleased to say. Philippe, DO keep a civil tongue and DO keep One’s views on the fuzzy-wuzzies and One’s slitty-eyed friends to Oneself, dear. Anyway, let us plough on with One’s appointments. One thought dear Sarah Ferguson would make an excellent Chancellor of the Exchequer, don’t you agree?
FERGIE: Oh yah, rather! Oodles of trips abroad meeting all those rich men rolling in it, a nice little place in Downing Street that I could rent out for extra spenders, and there MUST be a dress allowance! Yay, Theresa, and I’m totes Brexit, too!
MAY: W-e-e-ll, I DID rather want more women in the Cabinet. . .
HER MAJ: That’s settled, then. One will need a token Wet on the Front Bench, yes?
MAY: I suppose so, Majesty. We normally do.
HER MAJ: Excellent! Edward, step forward! [Prince Edward describes a graceful pirouette ending with flourish and deep bow] He gets to run the Department of Culture, Mainly Men’s Games and Those Vultures in the Media. Agreed?
MAY: Of course, ma’am. And perhaps the Prince of Wales might care to take the Department of Work and Pensions?
HER MAJ: Certainly not! Farmer Charles gets Defra, he’ll be good at shovelling sh. . . ah, shuffling subsidies. The Duke of York gets the DWP. Andrew knows more than anyone about fiddling benefits.
MAY: Excellent, ma’am! I plan to save billions by clamping down hard on benefits and state handouts of all kinds, starting at the very top.
ANDREW: Cut handouts at the top!? Treachery! Count me out, mama!
FERGIE: Me too, ma’am. I can’t work for peanuts, I’m a single mama, mama!
PRINCE PHILIP: Good God! As usual it’s going to be left in the hands of dagos, bozos and BoJos! Bounders, the lot of you – let the wops and frogs run the ruddy show!
HER MAJ: Well, Prime Minister, it seems that One’s Cabinet has resigned en mass. One has been Corbynized.
MAY: Fear not, Your Majesty. I know just the man for the job. [Dialling and whispering into her mobile phone] Boris? Are you still mad keen on Brexit? No? I thought not. Meet me at Number 10 in twenty minutes . . . You got us into this mess, now YOU can get us out!