Top U.S. alchemists: the United Kingdom needs your help! Can you please quickly invent the elixir of eternal life and feed it to our Queen so that she may reign till the end of time? Otherwise, there’s a very distinct and worrying possibility that her son Charles will some day take over, and you know what that will be like, don’t you?
In three words: President Al Gore.
No, really, it’s going to be THAT bad. Consider, for example, what our future king is planning to do this Thursday. He will be flying to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, to lend his weight, authority and alleged expertise to perhaps the most dangerous and expensive con trick since time began: the “man-made global warming” scam.
In his keynote speech in Rio, the Prince will warn that the world’s nations have “less than 100 months to act” to save the planet from irreversible damage caused by climate change.
Thus will he endorse the very worst of those doom-laden scenarios dreamed up by Warmists like Al Gore and James Hansen to scare the guilt-ridden and the credulous (eg. B. Obama) into believing that the debate about “climate change” is over and that the time for action is NOW.
Sure, the Prince of Wales will be saying some less controversial things too, about how we need to stop the world’s rainforest being destroyed. Well, OK. None of us — save maybe the odd Brazilian cattle rancher, Malaysian teak merchant, plus of course members of The Society For The Total Eradication of the Orang Utan — is really disputing that.
But what our good Prince appears not quite to have twigged (he did go to Cambridge, but don’t let that fool you: he only got a measly lower second class degree in anthropology, archeology and history) is the intensely political nature of the Gore-ist green agenda he’s supporting here.
Indeed, it’s just the kind of wildly contentious subject matter which, with good reason, the more recent Kings and Queens of Britain have tended to avoid like the plague. Meddling in politics is why Charles’s 17th century namesake had his head chopped off. Not meddling in politics is what has made Charles’s mother — Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II — such an enduringly popular monarch.
The Queen, it is said, never saw particularly eye to eye with Margaret Thatcher. She is known to like corgis (an especially bad tempered variety of heel-nipping dog) and horses. Her habit of riding without a hard hat suggests she is probably not a safety Nazi. She is very fond of the Commonwealth (those nations formerly part of the British empire). Her favourite films are said to include Escape From Precinct 13 (the original John Carpenter version with the great synth score) and Deliverance (which once inspired her to take banjo lessons so she could pick her way through the famous banjo “Duel”).
I have now treated you to pretty much the sum total of my knowledge about the Queen. (Although I have to say that Deliverance one sounds too good to be true). Like most of her proud subjects, the fact that I’m so little privy to her innermost thoughts is a source of great comfort to me. It enables me to project onto her all those attributes I would like her, as my Queen, to possess (intrinsic conservatism; hatred of wind farms, left-liberals, etc). It means that when defending her against those idiots who demand that Britain should become a republic — under whom, exactly? President Tony Blair? — I find the job easy, for she has never ever said or done anything during her long reign so foolish or wrong as to provoke any remotely deserved criticism.
Would that the same could be said of her boy Charles. In his early days, he seemed almost promising: he looked good in a uniform (air force, army, navy: a Prince of Wales gets to try all three); he displayed courage and endurance in the polo and hunting fields; he drove fast cars and consorted with fast-ish women (the undoing of his marriage with poor Diana); he shot grouse. All highly suitable activities for a future king.
What’s more, he appeared to have some manner of interesting hinterland. He was an early adopter of all things organic and was said to enjoy talking to his flowers. He set up an excellent, successful biscuit company — Duchy Originals (whose shortbread is particularly delicious). And his magnificent charity the Prince’s Trust continues to do truly admirable work building the confidence and business skills of the young and (often) disadvantaged.
You do wonder, though, whether the one or two good things Charles has achieved so far were more the result of some kind of ‘a million monkeys in a room writing Shakespeare-style happy accident than the result of any wisdom or intelligence inherited from his mother.
Many of his future subjects have had their loyalties tested by his announcement that on taking the throne he will style no longer style himself “Defender of the Faith” (as all British monarchs have been entitled to do since the Pope Leo X granted King Henry VIII the title in 1521) but “Defender Of Faith.” No doubt he imagines that this will make Britain’s restive Muslim community feel more included. But it will also, of course, send them to the more aggressive Islamists among them that Britain is no longer prepared to stand up for its Protestant traditions. Thanks, Charles.
Nor has he done the cause of science — or indeed of the world’s starving — much good with his campaigning against genetically modified (GM) crops. Last year, he made the ludicrous — and unfounded — claim that thousands of Indian farmers had committed suicide after using them.
His wholesale surrender to Big Al’s Great Global Warming Scam really is the final straw. What’s so particularly galling to those of us who understand how much it’s going to cost us all in terms of raised taxes and damage to the world economy is that Prince Charles (not unlike Al Gore) is rich enough not to be affected.
With a private income (mostly from his Duchy of Cornwall estates) of around £16 million a year, Prince Charles can more than afford to salve his eco-conscience by having, for example, his vintage Aston Martin DB6 sportscar to run on bioethanol made from surplus wine. He can also afford to have his favorite pigs flown 1000 miles to be butchered in Italy so as to make his favourite “culatello” ham.
Makes you kind of wonder what his mother makes of all this. Such a pity that — as is Her Majesty’s wont — we’re never going to know