“When I was a chylde I spake as a chylde
I vnderstode as a childe
I ymagened as a chylde.
But assone as I was a man I put awaye childesshnes.”
1 Corinthians 13:11 – Tyndale translation
When I was a child I rather like Prince Charles. After all, we got a day off school for his investiture, and (if I recall correctly, but probably don’t) were gifted some pointless gewgaws – perhaps a mug and a coin. And at that time anything with the word “Wales” in it seemed good to me. It was only later that I realised how the role of the so-called “Prince of Wales” symbolised the systematic oppression of the Welsh by the English; it substantialised the English authorities’ desire to eradicate the Welsh culture and language; and was a start of the systematic rape of the country’s natural resources and brutal exploitation of its workforce for the benefit of the English robber-barons.
And that was before I came to understand that his status was gifted not upon merit, but upon from whose uterus he was squeezed out. And in the womb-squeezing lottery he won first prize.
It’s probably fair to say that today I’m no longer a fan of Brian.
Still, I’m not a man of rigid beliefs, and when I saw his Duchy tea bags for sale half-price I bought a couple of boxes.
When I opened the first box my disappointment started: the inner foil wrapping designed to keep the contents fresh was silver – not gold. Hardly the royal wrapping I’d been expecting. Perhaps His Majesty thinks that gold is too good for hoi polloi? Perhaps he keeps a gold-wrapped version just for himself and his family?
On ripping the wrapping I saw the teabags, and again my heart fell. I’d expected the bags to have strings and little tags attached. But then, perhaps the Colonel-in-Chief of the Royal Regiment of Wales he thinks that we all, like him, have some flunky to pluck the sodden sachets from the boiling water whilst burning their fingers so there’s no need for string or tag.
And then the bags themselves, they weren’t separate, but in pairs. Frankly, I’d have thought that the Honorary Commodore of the Gurkha Rifles and the Duke of Cornwall (they’re both the same person) might have found some time whilst sitting on his gilded throne to tear the bags apart before packaging them. After all, what else does he have to do whilst waiting for the latest suckling from the teat of the British tax payer?
And as for the bags themselves, the paper is brown. Are they made from recycled cardboard and used manila envelopes? And if so, would a little bit of bleach have been too much to ask.
So, Charlie-boy, I’m sadly disappointed by your abject failure.
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