Self-service tills, Ma’am? Try my Royal guide to modern menaces
Unexpected item in the hand-bagging area. On an official visit to mark the 150th anniversary of Sainsbury’s, the Queen was fascinated by selfservice checkouts in one of their pop-up shops. Her questioning was keen, focused.
She wanted to know if shoplifting was possible, if there was an opportunity to leave without paying for one’s digestives, could one slip a triangle of one’s avourite brie up the sleeve of one’s matching coat/dress combo and climb into the daimler without anyone having, as you commoners say, clocked it?
‘And you can’t trick it? You can’t cheat then?’ she asked when a manager demonstrated how customers used a till.
You could, he told her, but the weighing scales should prevent certain items from being undetected.
It was a marvellous scene, a revealing glimpse of how the everyday experiences of ordinary citizens are a mystery to Her Maj; a woman who has never voted, never sat her driving test, never missed an Amazon delivery and never been stuck in a Bank Holiday jam.
She can have no idea of what gritty life is like for the rest of us; no notion of the annoyance of noisy neighbours, the enraging infrequency of council bin collections, the difference between builder’s tea and builder’s bum, and why firms who automatically renew our subscriptions after we have cancelled them make us weep in despair.
Sometimes I think it is no wonder she and prince philip have lived for so long and aged so well; they have never been held in a queue while ‘ your call is important to us’, or been delayed at didcot parkway for a fortnight.
Here we are, fretting in the death throes of theresa May’s reign, but what would happen if there was also a putsch at the palace? And our dear Queen was booted on to the streets to fend for herself? Fear not, kind lady. Here is my Royal Guide to Modern Living to help you along . . .
AUTOMATED TILLS
tRY the ones in different High Street supermarkets, Ma’am. they are not all weight- sensitive, wink wink knoworrimean?
HAVING A DINNER PARTY
SOOneR or later you are going to have the family around for a dining event which you must cater for yourself. Ma’am, there are many difficulties ahead. It’s not like the old days, when chef prepared boiled peacock and everyone just got stuck in or starved. You must have a vegan option. You must check if your guests have allergies — and merely being averse to princess Michael of Kent doesn’t count.
no cocktails in jam jars, please; no vaping indoors; no Instagram posting, no double dipping, no selfies and you have no idea of what I’m talking about, do you? Uh oh, here comes Meghan.
‘Are there eggs in this omelette?’ she will ask shrilly, while casting lustful glances at your tiara.
the whole thing is a nightmare.
GOING TO THE DOCTOR
tHIS might come as a shock, Ma’am, but you have to wait in an area called a ‘waiting room’. A place in which the magazines will be out of date and the receptionist will be out of order.
BUYING A BRA IN M&S
WItH custom-built underpinnings no longer being supplied by your personal corsetiere, you will have to go to M&S for a BF (bra fitting) like the rest of us. Your Maj should proceed to the draughty plywood changing rooms and await a harassed assistant with a tape measure in her mouth. ‘Jumper off, lovey,’ she will say, before placing her cold hands around the royal ribcage.
tips: Ma’am, ‘cup size’ does not refer to the magnitude of the racing trophy won at Ascot, so on no account ask: ‘Is the going firm?’ If the assistant asks; ‘Balcony or padded,’ she is not talking about your preferred seats at the Royal Variety Show.
TEXTING WITH EMOJIS
BeWARe. digital etiquette is fraught with pitfalls for the older texter. A snowflake can mean cocaine, applause hands can mean spanking and an aubergine is not always representative of a fondness for ratatouille. Ma’am, stick to smiley face and sad face.
HOLE IN SHOE
pLeASe repair with footwear to a branch of timpson immediately, where you can also get a key cut and buy a small trophy, a padlock, a telescopic umbrella, rain hat, get something engraved and stock up on watch batteries. no, we don’t know why either. that smell Ma’am? It is glue. Some of your subjects use it for affixing purposes, while others . . . well, never mind. You wouldn’t believe it anyway.
VISITING A RESTAURANT
MA’AM is perhaps used to servers only speaking when they are spoken to? And only then to murmur: ‘Shot at Balmoral, Ma’am.’ Meaning the roast venison, not Fergie’s hopes of royal forgiveness. Beware that in restaurants, impertinent servers will introduce themselves by name, they will ask ‘have you dined with us before’ and they will introduce you to their ‘concept’ which will invariably involve the multi-ordering of small plates or ‘a nursery tea’ as you know it.
they will also regularly interrupt you by asking: ‘Is everything all right?’ yet they will be nowhere to be found when everything isn’t. When you ask for something, they will say: ‘that should be OK’ which means it won’t be.
DECLUTTERING
tHe nation is gripped by decluttering and recycling fever. Our guru is a woman called Marie Kondo who appears to do very little except visit other peoples’ homes and fold jumpers, just like some of the younger royal ladies we could mention, Ma’am.
From now on, you must spend time giving your junk to charity shops then buying it back from car boot sales and eBay like millions of your citizens.
In other news, plastic was good but now it is bad, ditto emma thompson whom you dame-ed, for heaven’s sake.
TAKING A BATH
tHe large oval receptacle in the middle of the bathroom? that is called ‘the bath,’ Ma’am. It might surprise you to learn it does not come pre-drawn, bubbling with lavender salts and filled to the correct depth and temperature.
In the same vein, toothbrushes are not pre-loaded with toothpaste and loo rolls do not fold into ‘points’ by themselves. In what might be the biggest shock of all, bathrooms do not always smell of fresh paint. Good luck in your new life. Inbox me with any problems!