The other night I had a dream. In the dream I was the chauffeur of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second, driving her around in a dirty great black Bentley.
I wasn’t very good at it. For a start I kept looking over my shoulder and asking Her Majesty if she was doing alright in the back there, but she took that rather well, smiled, made a bit of conversation about the corgis. Then I lost my way around Hyde Park Corner and went down Oxford Street the wrong way, but that was okay because, well, I had The Queen in the back and a flag on my bonnet so really, I could go where I wanted, couldn’t I?
Then we ended up somewhere around Camden, can’t tell you where, got no idea, Gospel Oak probably. I was on a double decker that get lost around that way once, you ever seen a night bus full of pissheads come up against a low railway bridge and have to do a three-point turn in a sidestreet?
The Queen was alright about it, she got off her seat and came and sat right behind me, leant over the passenger seat and pointed the way she thought we should be heading, so that’s where we went, but we ended up in a cul-de-sac and it wasn’t wide enough to do a three-point, you’ve seen how big those Bentleys are that she rides around in and this one had all the armour-plating on it as well so it was a bugger to manoeuvre. I said to her, ‘Ma’am, I can’t turn her round in this space, I’m going to have to reverse her up and out. That alright with you?’ She said it was, but she was going to phone the Palace and get them to put Phil’s warm milk on.
So that’s how it ended up, me twisted round in the driver’s seat, reversing this big old Bentley, trying not to scrape the paintwork; The Queen looking out of the back window telling me when I was going off the straight.
When we got back to the Palace, she said “Well that was a laugh” and went in.
She had her own key and everything.
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