For weeks, the question on everyone’s lips was, “How is Her Hobbling Majesty going to make it inside the Abbey for the memorial service for the late Prince Philip, great sea captain and middling (at best) husband?” Our best guess was a “football-style tunnel,” a side entrance, a stick, and a getaway car. But the simplest solution is the best for Queen Lili of Eng, whose core personality trait has always been “values efficiency,” no fuss, no muss. Last week the Queen had her worst son — that uninspiring, non-perspiring teddy-toting loony toon who just settled out of court for $16 million with an Epstein victim — escort her to her pew. She sat there small and alone, as you may remember, weeping, throwing up, puking, barfing, balking at the sad memory of it all.
Now Richard Pohle, the only photographer in the entire United Kingdom allowed in Westminster Abbey as processions began, wrote in a first-person piece in the Times that the Firm originally forbade him from taking a photo of the Queen until she was seated. Only when services began and Pohle saw Andrew at the Queen’s crook did he understand: Palace officials didn’t want photographic evidence of the Queen and the human corgi boy together, even though the entire service was broadcast live for everyone to see via BBC.
Eventually, the press office relented. After much ado, risking life and limb and stern admonishing looks, Pohle got the shot, which confirmed to the world that the twerpy perv still has Mummy’s public support.
Aw, this is just like that painting in To the Lighthouse.