A Prince Pops By

Prince Charles and Camilla, the Duchess of Cornwall were in town recently, and the Prince had requested a meeting. He had been to visit the UK program where my sugar beets were being studied as a future bio-fuel, and wanted to learn more.

Arrangements were duly made, and we took tea at the British Consulate, far from the madding crowd of paparazzi and rabid republican protesters. (These republicans are idiots: the monarchy gives enormous stability, with the nasty stuff all confined to the prime minister level, where it rightly belongs. As you know, I tried to tell Hamid Karzai this, but no, he couldn't see that by giving up power for ceremony he could become a much beloved statesman. Vanitas, vanitas, omnes vanitas.

The Prince was in good spirits, and we had a good chat. Camilla was off learning about long-horned beetles, or some other insect, I've forgotten which, so Charles and I could get right at it. He had done his homework, and complimented me on the management of my various sugar beet holdings.

"No union problems?" he inquired.

"Goodness no," I replied. "All the workers own shares, so there's no division between management and labour. After all, they are just as important as the sugar beets they grow. Should you have occasion to go to Ukraine, do have a discussion with Bohdan, my manager there. Nothing like seeing at first hand."

We then discussed the bio-fuel project, which was coming along nicely, and he was impressed with the environmental aspects of the initiative. This, I gathered, was Charles' Big Thing, along with some opinionated views on modern architecture. Soon, however, his princely duties called, and we parted. His last words, however, disturbed somewhat.

"Lovely to meet you, Lady Simone, and Sir Harry sends his regards."

Bloody hell. Sir Harry mucking about with royalty. On the other hand, Charles was the future King, so I guess keeping him somewhat in a very nasty loop was necessary.

Back at the Manor, I reflected a bit on Charles. His first marriage was, of course, a disaster; a more mis-matched couple I found hard to imagine, short of Stephen Hawking suddenly proposing to Paris Hilton. The marriage lasted a lot longer than I thought it would, given the serious gap between how Diana saw the world and Charles saw the world, and both perhaps were blameless, yet both also responsible for a number of acts better not committed. And certainly no one foresaw the tragic ending of it all.

Bah. Getting morose. I made a serious martini, and thought of my own marriage to Lord Strunsky. This heartened. We were in all things equal, and delighted in each other's perceptions. That's the way it should be. Even if he wore that silly ring on his left ear. Then I recalled an observation made by my good friend, Rita Rudner: "I think men who have a pierced ear are better prepared for marriage. They've experienced pain and bought jewellery."

Says it all, really.