GOOD DAY, BAD DAY

Well everyone has a bad day now and then, even Me.
The timid early knock on my bedroom door is unfamiliar. I do my best lion roar, “COME!” A new maid creeps in with my wake-up tea, and looks terrified. This is pleasing, but when she sees me in my manly PJs she drops the tray. Stupid girl. My favourite china cup, too, hand-painted with “Prince of all he surveys.”
Later, the King is holding a meeting about staffing; his maj is worried about things like superannuation, whatever that is. He looks across the table at me, catches me smirking at the footman. “Son,” says he, &ldquoo concentrate. One day, all these problems will be yours.” But sorry, no can do.
I decide to skip lunch and go mingle with the peasants. The palace staff will go ballistic when they realise I’m missing.
I pass through the coach trippers, flat cap down over my eyes, but I don’t like the look of them and don’t interact. All fascinators, high heels and make-up, and that’s just the butlers. I decide to nip across the gardens to the royal children’s playground. There aren’t children there now, of course, as we’re all grown up. Technically. I jump on the roundabout and use one foot to set it going, faster and faster. The icing on the cake is the shouting of the staff who are now out looking for me.
Most unfortunately, the roundabout is now going so fast that I start to feel sick; I can’t get off but am thrown into the air without even trying. Ow. A blackness descends. Then I hear a tremulous female voice. “Sir, sir, are you all right? Let me … Let me help you up, may I?”
Yep, it’s the scared young maid, still in her cap and cute black and white outfit. This time I see that she is really rather tasty, and I let her help me up. She daren’t brush me down, although I was hoping she might, and she dashes off to let the others know. I wander back nonchalantly, trusting she won’t tell. I am greeted and shooshed back to the palace.
Taking Lapsang Souchong in the blue drawing room, I listen while the King complains to the Queen about poor personal grooming among some of the staff. Turns out he has summoned the little maid, and she hurries in, blushing and stammering, her hands and apron grubby with the mud. She won’t meet my eye, but I really fancy her now.
The King demands an explanation, but she is tongue-tied. Now I see a way to secure her favours. “I can explain this aberration, father. This innocent, mild-mannered young lady is blameless.”
The King is sceptical. He knows me.
“She was serving cucumber sandwiches to the plebs, that is to say visitors, while I was chatting sociably to them. Then suddenly the wind whipped my cap from my head. A few of the ladies made a dash to retrieve it, no doubt hoping to make an impression, but this kind girl leapt into action, hurling herself on top of the cap to keep them at bay. She returned it to me straight away, but rushed back into the palace, covered in the right royal mud that you see before you. So there you have it.”
The King grunted; the Queen smiled at the maid and waved her away, and the dear girl glanced up at me as she bobbed her curtsey. Ooh, long dark eyelashes and lovely blue eyes. And so after that, the day turned out rather well.