Yes, I know this is getting repetitive but hellfire, it’s my blog.
Sarah Ferguson likes to have us all along on her emotional journey and I feel an obligation to keep you current. I agree it’s a very long journey. Let’s face it, it’s a bloody Moscow to Vladivostock ride of self-discovery. But I know what you’re like, curled up with last week’s Economist, pretending you’re not interested in her latest proctological revelations. When actually, you can’t wait to see what’s round the next bend.
Discussing the most recent blow dealt her by the Royals – and admittedly, not being invited to your ex-husband’s nephew’s wedding must be a bit like getting cracked across the jaw by Sonny Liston – she has shared with us her coping strategy. She went to Thailand. Where the jungle embraced her. But sadly not tightly enough.
She went on to remind us that before last month’s wedding she was the last bride up the aisle of Westminster Abbey. Which is important. Lest we forget, and all that. And then she added something deeply bizarre even by Fergie’s standards. She said she kind of liked the idea that on April 29th she and Princess Diana found themselves in the same boat. i.e. absent.
And I’ve been trying to see any possible connection between the bridegroom’s mother cut down in her prime by a drunk driver and… I’m sorry. Is it me? Am I missing something here?
Note to file: the human intestine is about 6 metres long. We’ve hardly begun.
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