To Die For


Yesterday, Christmas Day, was the second Christmas I’ve spent hiding out with my men, Mikey Freddy and Squeaky, in the basement of a demolished house on the outskirts of a city in Texas which I cannot name, for the police may have discovered this web-log, and be reading it every day, hoping it’ll reveal clues as to our whereabouts.

You, who are first-time visitors to this site, should know that we have killed a number of people since we arrived in America from England a year-and-a-half ago, and are now on the run.  These killings were forced upon us, but I’m not so naive as to think the police here in America will see things as do I.

Despite our fraught circumstances, we had a happy Christmas Day, for the weather was in the balmy mid 70s – not like the cold and snowy Christmas Day I would have spent in my little house in rural England but for this American episode. On the day before Christmas we had gone to a supermarket and stocked up on food suitable for a Christmas Day dinner, like two pre-cooked barbecued chickens, fresh vegetables and tinned gravy.

This may sound an inadequate Christmas dinner for you Americans, who spend all day cooking and basting your Christmas turkey, and preparing the stuffing, and baking your Christmas pudding, only to see it all disappear within minutes once everyone around the dinner table starts tucking in. But you should understand that in our underground home we have merely a hot-plate. The chicken, then, we had to eat cold, although our vegetables were hot, for I’d steamed them, and our gravy was hot too. We’d also stocked up on wine, so there was plenty to drink.

After our Christmas dinner, we drove in our SUV to a municipal park with a river running through it, and ducks on the water. We got out and strolled through the park and along the stream’s bank, soaking up the warmth of the Texas winter sun. After that, we found an internet cafe, which – amazingly for a Christmas Day – was open for business. There, I was able to log into Youtube where there was a video of Queen Elizabeth’s Christmas broadcast which she’d given to the people of England earlier in the day.

As I watched and listened, I felt Her Majesty was speaking to me personally, and I felt powerful emotions. Her Majesty has delivered her Christmas broadcasts for more than fifty years now, and I’ve listened to all of them. I’ve also watched her transform over these fifty plus years from the beautiful young woman she was when she first became our Monarch, to the dignified elderly lady she is now.

For you of the younger generation, it may be difficult to imagine that Queen Elizabeth was once young and beautiful – so beautiful, that powerful men like cabinet ministers and prime ministers, became smitten and fell at her feet. I, as a senior military man in the British establishment, was smitten too, and had Her Majesty asked me to die for her, I would have unquestioningly.

But even had she not been the Queen, I still would unquestioningly have died for the woman who is Elizabeth, for beautiful and powerful women have always had an explicable power over me. A beautiful and powerful woman has always been for me, the ultimate aphrodisiac. I am hers to command and to die for. Prostrate at her feet, I have no will of my own.

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