Diary of a Queen

***Beware, gentle readers -- long post. I decided to post a story that I wrote several years ago. A friend asked me to write her a story for Christmas one year, and this is what happened. I've always been fascinated with Queen Elizabeth II. Any serious student of royalty will find that I have played a bit loose with some of the facts, but this is a work of fiction, after all. Besides, it's my blog and I'll do what I want! :-)***

For reasons that are too complex to explain at this juncture, I woke up one morning to find myself inhabiting the body and mind (the very essence) of her royal majesty, Queen Elizabeth II. Since I was also essentially myself, I decided to preserve my adventures for posterity, even though no one in their right mind would ever believe my story. I had a grand time as the Queen – no wonder she’s been hanging on to that crown for so long. I would too, if I were in her Prada shoes.

Sunday, December 14 – 7:00 AM, London Time

You won’t believe this. I woke up this morning and immediately felt strange. Well, that you can possibly believe, but this was stranger than I’ve ever felt or thought about being. The bed where I was sleeping was plusher and more luxurious than I was accustomed to, and my partner was no longer sleeping beside me. My first thought was that he had already left for work. A cold, grey morning light filtered through the curtains. My vision was much more blurred than usual, so I decided to roll over and get my glasses so I could see what time it was. This was no easy task, because the bed was huge. I had to roll over at least three or four times before I reached the other side. The glasses weren’t mine at all, but round, plastic-framed things that looked distinctly feminine (and to be quite honest, a bit dowdy). The room was enormous and very richly decorated. Where the hell was I? I looked down at myself. I was a bit plumper than usual. My hands looked a bit old, too. Oh God… what has happened? The bed was high, so I looked down and found a small plush stepstool. I finally reached the carpet and my feet immediately sank in. The room was a bit cold, so I slipped my feet into some pink houseshoes and found a robe thoughtfully laid out on the corner of the bed. Wherever I was, someone was taking really good care of me. I saw a dressing table and a mirror, so I sat down, took a quick look and my mouth fell open in shock. I saw an older woman, probably in her 70s who looked very familiar. My hair was steel grey and sticking up all over the place. As I slowly closed my mouth, I recognized myself. I was Liz herself… better known as Queen Elizabeth II, the titular monarch of England. I had been astrally promoted from a queen to The Queen. “Oh, damn…” I said, but I stopped. The words didn’t come out in my somewhat-Southern accent, but in a round, melodious English accent. I sat there for a few moments with my chin in my hands, not knowing what to do next, when there was a discreet knock at the door. A maid stepped into the room. “Good morning, your Majesty.” She curtsied demurely. I said “Oh, hello…”

Sunday, December 14 – 9:00 AM

What a delight – I’ve just had the most delicious English breakfast, with a full pot of tea. My maid’s name is Janet (fortunately, she introduced herself, since she’s new), and surprisingly, I felt comfortable issuing regal commands in my lovely royal voice. I found myself using the vowel sound “o” as much as possible. At all times, I was gracious and kind. I smiled benevolently at Janet and thanked her for her help when she took the tea dishes away. After tea, I stepped into a hot shower and hit a high note during “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” that would make Ella envious. Honestly, I think I put a small crack in the ceiling plaster. My singing echoed nicely through the royal chambers. I felt a bit guilty looking at myself in the shower, so I kept my eyes averted as I showered with fragrant soap that I would try to find when I was back in the States.

Sunday, December 14 – 1:30 PM

I haven’t had a chance to write until now. The morning has been so busy. Who knew that a Queen was so busy on a Sunday morning? (In America, that’s when most queens are resting after a busy Saturday night, or at least meeting for a lovely brunch around 11:00-ish.) After my shower, I chose a lovely Sunday morning ensemble and tried to make myself look as nice as possible. I’m not used to applying makeup in my personal life, so I’m afraid I looked more like Her Royal Majesty, Betty the Clown. I do want to get a rinse in my hair – that blueish gray look will just have to go. I’ll have to practice with the makeup this evening if I can get a little peace. I was escorted to a church service that was a bit long, but theatrical and ultimately fascinating. I remembered that I had a husband in this new role, so I asked where Philip was. The equerry informed me that HRH would not be joining us this morning, and he would join me for dinner. I was asked if I wanted to go back home (to me, I guess, Buckingham Palace is home) and have lunch or if I wanted to visit with Princess Anne for a late afternoon tea. I decided to go home and had them send my regrets to Annie.

Sunday, December 14 – 4:30 PM

Finally, a chance to rest a bit. I came back, expecting a quiet royal lunch, but instead I had to lunch with some dignitaries. I couldn’t remember their names to save my life, so I just smiled at them. I did recognize Mr. Blair, so I paid a bit more attention to him and his wife Cherie. In fact, I escorted them out and they were a bit puzzled by my hearty good manners and friendliness. When he left, he said, “Goodbye, your Majesty.” Letting the informality of the moment overtake me, I said to him, “Oh, Tony, just call me Queenie” and trilled a high, royal laugh. He looked up in shock, laughed nervously, and bowed. Cherie curtsied and gave me a nervous smile. Lord, I thought, they’ll probably tell the media that I’ve been drinking or something. After they left, I announced that I would be taking a short nap. Since I had no idea where my chambers were, I clapped my hands and crisply asked for someone to escort me. An official looking person agreed, a person who seemed to know my schedule (pronounced shedule, as I came to find out). This person reminded me that I had a dinner appointment with Prince Philip at 8:00. I will now retire for a lovely nap and leave myself plenty of time to practice with the makeup. I caught a glance in the mirror and my makeup had disintegrated. From the looks of it, the Queen had had a hard day indeed and I’m glad there were no photographers present.

Sunday, December 14, 10:00 PM

What a lovely full-course dinner, even though I was unpleasantly surprised to find the beef a bit tough. After all, it wasn’t as though I had ordered it from the Waffle House; this is Buckingham Palace for goodness’ sake. The rest of the meal more than compensated, though.

Philip looked a bit more decrepit than I remembered him in photos, but he still had that twinkle in his eye. I fancy that he was a bit surprised to find me so youthful-looking. My makeup was expertly applied and my hair was set just right. I had chosen a lovely gown that was perhaps a bit more revealing than Liz would normally wear, but I wanted to have some fun. Phil and I chatted amiably and I realized that we were strangers to each other. I didn’t know what to say to him, so I kept it to standard small-talk. He didn’t let on that anything was amiss, so perhaps they don’t talk much. We finished dinner with a lovely dessert, and I then decided to retire. He kissed my cheek and we went our separate ways, since he had some reading to do. After several dry runs, I’ve finally learned the way to my chambers. I’m so tired, I’m going to go to bed as soon as I take my makeup off and finish some light reading.

Monday, December 15, 9:00 AM

I awoke to find myself still inhabiting the body of Queen Elizabeth, so I was excited to think about what adventures I had to face today. I swung my feet out of bed and began my day with another full English breakfast and a hot shower. My assistant arrived and she had my schedule for the week. I remember offhandedly asking her if I had some time to fit in some time with a hairdresser. She said that she would contact Maxine immediately. Fortunately, today is a light day, with a visit to a local school to present an award and then a luncheon with a prominent woman’s group. I would have to make a short speech, but it has been prepared for me. Now… what to wear?

Monday, December 15, 3:00 PM

I apologize for the gap in time, but I just arrived back at the Palace. You know, that little shack that I keep in London?  The school presentation was lovely in a small town just outside of the city, and I’m glad I was the Queen because everyone else seemed to know the perfect protocol. I just had to smile and be gracious. And look stunning, I might add – I found a designer ensemble further back in the closet and it turned out to be perfect. The colors were most flattering. My assistant smiled her approval and said Maxine would be ready for me at 4:00. Anyway, the school presentation -- a young boy was receiving a scholastic award and his eyes shined with tears when I presented it to him. Touched, I took his hand and posed for a picture with him. His parents (I assume that’s who they were) were crying quietly. I told him (my voice never fails to thrill me, but I tried to lower the register a bit so I wouldn’t peel the paint off the ceiling) how proud I was of him and to continue working hard, since he still had a long way to go. Then, amidst a large round of applause, I was whisked away back to London for the luncheon. We were taken to a large hall and my assistant (her name, apparently, is Shirley) handed me my speech. She said that she would introduce me and sit in the crowd. Amidst applause, I took the dais with confidence and read my speech as though it were the greatest piece of oratorical fire that had ever been written. The ladies seemed a bit stunned at my gusto, but laughed at my small jokes. Afterwards, I posed for some photos and was whisked back to the Palace. Oops, there’s Shirley. I’d better get ready for Maxine. I needed to get out of my designer wardrobe and into something simple. But, what does the Queen wear for her hairdresser?

Monday, December 15, 5:30 PM

What began like a nightmare ultimately turned out to be a triumph. I couldn’t make Maxine or Shirley listen to me and I thought I was going to have to throw a royal tantrum. I wanted to soften my look a bit and tone down the steel-gray helmet that the Queen seemed destined to wear. Finally, we settled on a slight trim that took out some of the domed look and a darker rinse to soften the color. The effect was miraculous – I looked at least 10 years younger. I thanked them both and gave Maxine an impulsive hug. She was thrilled and moved to tears. I’ve been making everyone cry today. Ah, the majesty of my position.

Monday, December 15, 9:00 PM

A small, quiet dinner at the Palace seemed made to order after our slightly busy day today. I didn’t think I had the option of taking my dinner upstairs in my chambers (I’d never call this a room), but that’s exactly what they did. Sort of like royal room service, in a way. I plan to take a long hot bath afterwards and slip beneath the covers early.

Tuesday, December 16, 10:30 AM

Apparently, I’m still the Queen, so I’m soldiering on. Shirley came by early this morning after I had finished my breakfast, and said that I had some meetings to attend after lunch. One was to discuss my annual Christmas broadcast to my loyal subjects. Another was to plan my Christmas vacation. I was a bit mystified – did I have to get approval to take a vacation? After all, I am the Queen. But I guess I just can’t log on to Travelocity and point and click to make plane reservations, can I? I’m sure I have a royal something for transport and I have to announce it to the world, which means I won’t have a bit of privacy. (That word sounds lovely in proper English, with a short i sound.) Finally, I have a meeting with one of the members of Parliament. That should be a short meeting, Shirley said. It certainly will be, since I don’t know what in the world we will talk about.

Tuesday, December 16, 3:30 PM

The script for my Christmas broadcast was sent to my chambers, and frankly, I was disappointed. It was far too dry for my tastes. I’d like to make it a bit more informal, so I’ll touch it up here and there. Perhaps I could wind it up with “Merry Christmas, from your ever-loving Liz and Phil.” That might be too informal. The vacation plans were decided quickly enough – I told them that I would love to go to Scotland. My staff asked me if I wanted to go to Balmoral and, not knowing where that is and not wanting to look like a stupid Queen, I said, “Of course.” I then gave a small regal wave that left them all a bit mystified. All the arrangements will be made. If I’m still here by Saturday, I’ll be up to my royal bottom in royal family members for the better part of a fortnight. I just hope someone gets there before we do and lights the furnace, but I’m sure there is someone to take care of that.

Tuesday, December 16, 6:00 PM

I’m not quite sure why, but I’m feeling a bit cranky this evening. I may throw a royal tantrum and see where that gets me. Do people think that heads will roll? They may ship me off to a royal home for the bewildered, so I’d better behave myself. I’m going to a state dinner soon and it will be lovely to show off my new look, but I’d rather stay home. Maybe I’m getting a bit homesick. I miss my partner and my family, but I can’t really call them up without causing a lot of global confusion. Ah, there’s a knock at the door and I’m not quite finished dressing.

Tuesday, December 16, 10:45 PM

Good heavens, I’m exhausted. If I had to smile one more time, I think my royal face would have cracked. Even though I looked stunning and radiated a regal elegance that kept the cameras clicking, I secretly wanted to be at home. Phil escorted me and at one point, held my hand. He caught me looking a bit down and he said “Cheer up, sausage.” I begged his royal pardon and asked him to repeat it. He said “Cheer up, sausage.” Thinking this was some sort of bizarre ritual between the Queen and her consort, I told him to “Lighten up, bratwurst.” He laughed heartily, and then I trilled a high Queen-like laugh that cracked a nearby champagne flute, and the cameras clicked again. Apparently, we don’t laugh much in public. We must not be amused very often. The dinner went on and on; I listened to more speeches, and yet I didn’t really seem to listen, so I can’t tell you what they were about. It’s like I used to do in church growing up. As soon as the pastor would open his mouth, I would start mentally reviewing a book I had recently read, or a favorite movie I had watched on television. By the time the credits rolled or the heroine died, he asked us to pray and we all knew the service was almost over. Anyway, there was no closing prayer for this interminable dinner, but we left shortly after dessert was served and eaten. I met some people, but I’m so terrible with names that I couldn’t tell you who they were. George someone-or-other, and his wife Laura (I think that was her name – she looked nice, but I’m afraid I outshone her). He bored me to tears during his speech and I didn’t want to talk to him anymore, but he was very insistent. Trying to maintain my regal poise was difficult, but I smiled and thanked him for coming to England when I finally managed to wriggle away. Again, I got that blank look… they must think the Queen is dotty.

After we got back to the Palace, Phil kissed me on the cheek and I went upstairs to get ready for bed. I’m having some delicious decaf tea as I write these notes. To be honest, even though I’m living in the lap of luxury, I’d rather be home and be myself again. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.

Wednesday, December 17, 10:30 AM

A sharp beeping sound awoke me at 6:00 this morning. I found myself in a very familiar bed, with a very familiar person snoring beside me. The alarm kept going and going, and finally I jumped out of bed to silence it. I couldn’t make out much of the room in the semi-darkness, so I flipped on the overhead light. My partner squinted up at me, irritated that I had blinded him, and said okay, okay, he was getting up. I was back home! I got up, made some breakfast, and kissed him goodbye. He seemed very glad to see me, as though he knew I had been gone for a few days.

At work, I started thinking… did the Queen inhabit my body for the past few days? What did she think of our small pied-a-terre in Texas? Was she disappointed that there weren’t any servants? I couldn’t wait to ask Jeff when he came home.

Wednesday, December 17, 9:30 PM

Apparently, that’s exactly what happened. Jeff was a bit surprised when “I” spoke of servants and vacations in various parts of the world. He was even more surprised when I came home with matching handbags to match every outfit. I hope it wasn’t too disconcerting for him – I’m sure that Liz tried his patience at times. I asked him if I had been to work the past few days and he said, of course you have, but they didn’t quite know what to make of you. My boss felt that I was ill and sent me home early. He said that he had cursed on Monday and I got quite upset with him, and that I didn’t always answer when he called me by name. He really must think I’ve been in a Xanax-induced trance or something. I told him that everything was back to normal now.

I hope that her Majesty had a good time knowing how the common folk live, because I had a great time as a royal presence. I just hope that I didn’t do any long-term damage to the Queen. I hope she likes her new hair-do. She didn’t do much for mine, I’ll tell you that.