The Royal Honeymoon of the Dude and Dudess of Cambridge is in full swing. Apparently, some rich German bloke 'let it slip' that the couple was off to the Seychelles and pundits put it on costing more pounds per night than Victoria Beckham has ever admitted to weighing. 
Anyway, no photos, no proof. And so, like any self respecting conspirator, methinks it's a decoy. In fact, I have it on my own good authority (and too many gossip magazines in the last fortnight) that they're actually, probably, royally, hiding 'in plain sight'. And, in doing so, Weightless Katie's finally stuffing her face.
Jolly good shew...
Let them eat cake
After the day was over
and all of the guests had gone
with one tier of cake now nibbled
and just seven more to come
well past the midnight hour
when Kate hadn’t eaten a smidge
and Harry, bless his royal soul’d
praised his bro, ‘The Dude of Cambridge’,
‘twas time to discuss the honeymoon,
for Afghanistan was truly out.
They’d both heard a little whisper
of Bin Laden ‘bout to lose his clout.
Libya, little better.
Queensland, too many lizards.
The US, nope, tornadoes
and probably even blizzards.
‘Maybe, Willy, Germany
might be a fine decision.’
‘But no my Duchess, darling,
booked out for Eurovision.’
‘Urggh,’ shuddered Catherine,
‘You’re right, that would be wrong.
Even for a Sloane like me,
that’s way too much chiffon.’
The problem, as they saw it,
was not travelling afar,
but actually honeymooning now
in England, here or thar.
For somewhat out of kilter
‘twas suddenly hunting season
and everyone who’s anyone
was out there with good reason
Scouring every hill and dale,
skulking, in the woods,
‘Maybe to the Pilbara, Wills?
No fascinators there.’We could land out at Whim Creek.’
‘No Kate; not enough beer.’
And so they planned a decoy,
declared, ‘No honeymooning.’
And made a show of catching them
a helicopter zooming,
but later on that evening,
And there they hid for two whole weeks
and ate it. Jolly good show!
Copyright Elise Batchelor May 2011
with one tier of cake now nibbled
and just seven more to come
well past the midnight hour
when Kate hadn’t eaten a smidge
and Harry, bless his royal soul’d
praised his bro, ‘The Dude of Cambridge’,
‘twas time to discuss the honeymoon,
for Afghanistan was truly out.
They’d both heard a little whisper
of Bin Laden ‘bout to lose his clout.
Queensland, too many lizards.
The US, nope, tornadoes
and probably even blizzards.
‘Maybe, Willy, Germany
might be a fine decision.’
‘But no my Duchess, darling,
booked out for Eurovision.’
‘Urggh,’ shuddered Catherine,
‘You’re right, that would be wrong.
Even for a Sloane like me,
that’s way too much chiffon.’
The problem, as they saw it,
but actually honeymooning now
in England, here or thar.
For somewhat out of kilter
‘twas suddenly hunting season
and everyone who’s anyone
was out there with good reason
Scouring every hill and dale,
skulking, in the woods,
trying with almighty skill
to apprehend the goods.
‘No, my darling Katiepoo,
such consequence we’d dread,
them hunting down that Beatrice
with the deer upon her head.’
with the deer upon her head.’
‘Maybe to the Pilbara, Wills?
No fascinators there.’
‘No Kate; not enough beer.’
And so they planned a decoy,
declared, ‘No honeymooning.’
And made a show of catching them
a helicopter zooming,
but later on that evening,
snuck back through Buck’nham Palace
wound, much akin to Beatrice hunters,
where? Oh where? Do tell us...
Into the dark reception room
where the cake still sat, you know.And there they hid for two whole weeks
and ate it. Jolly good show!
Copyright Elise Batchelor May 2011
