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fiction monologue

Lizzie

The queen is dead. Heavy shite. Saw it coming. Told you she was on her last legs. Told you two weeks ago, pal. Course I did. That wee shuffle. Practically fell out of her baffles. You calling me a liar, pal? Another pint, pal, aye, Tennents. Poor thing. Couldn’t even get back to Windsor for the end. Imagine dying in this shithole. Hardworking right up to the line. Dedicated. True patriot. Don’t make them like that anymore. Must have broke her heart to see Boris go. Judases the lot of them. Best thing ever happened to Britain Boris. Not that Truss is bad. Quite the opposite. But shouldn’t have come to this. Seven quid? For a pint? You a bampot or what? Bring on the tax cuts. What do you mean I don’t pay taxes? Boris would’ve cut them if it hadn’t been for that out of touch Sunak. Couldn’t even put petrol in someone else’s car. Jumped up wee bawbag. Him and his green card and his snickering wife. Most overtaxed country in the world Britain. Lost our backbone. Nats put this country on its knees. Rubbish everywhere and now the rats. Ma poor Mam dying waiting for an ambulance after the rat bite. You don’t believe me, pal? Place was swarming with the fat wee vermin. Saw the toothmarks myself. Puncture wounds that neat could have been a serpent. Everything broken is broken by the nats. All that oil in the north sea and the nats still taxing the shite out of petrol. Change the subject? I haven’t even started, pal. National Mourning, it’s like the sky’s fallen, pal. I’m in National Mourning. Move your head, pal, don’t wan’t to miss it. Fine curtsy and everything by Lizzie there. Just the way I like it. Not like that robot May doing the lumbago to Prince Harry. Or was it some Saudi prince? Not overdressed either. Just the right humbleness. Suits her, black. I’ll tell her that, first time I write. She could do with something to hide her neck though. Scrawny when they’re over thirty. Scarf maybe. Or one of those velvet chokers with a dangly silver bit. Didn’t I tell you she was on her way out? You don’t remember, pal? Course I did. The colour of her hands. All grey around the wrists. Dead giveaway. Two Lizzies together. Dream team. Of course that’s her diamond. Better off here, be nicked otherwise. Anyway all above board. Salt and Vinegar, no, not Cheese and Onion, plays havoc with ma heartburn. Would’ve been a dream team. Lizzie Squared. And her eyes. I could see it in her eyes. Clouded, you ken, like she was jetting off to the milky way. Joining her Philip. Now he was a man’s man. Said it how it was. None of this woke shite, pal. Clean shot at the pheasants every time. Gave him a bad press they did for saying what’s what. All that bollocks about Andrew that lassie was making it up. That idiot journalist. What was her name? Emma something? Got sacked anyway. Heard that on good authority. Could see it in that lassie’s eyes. Mingin wee gold diggers those American kids. One sniff of a prince. What? Course he isn’t a nonce. Not with a mother like that, pal. Her Maj got the new PM over the line. Slipped away. Glad I got that last letter to her. Would have been comforting reading those words. Good at writing I am. Ken Charles would make an arse of it. Pompous pond life. Sucker even gets booed in Edinburgh. The way he treated Our Di. Our Di. People’s Princess. Should have been thrown out then. Defrocked. What do you mean that’s priests? Don’t contradict me, pal. You got Candle in the Wind on the juke box, pal? Barry tune that, barry. Remember that stuff about the tampax what a shitey wee jessie.  Told her that myself in some of my letters. Go straight to Will, I said. Jump a generation. Kept saying. Women need told things a few times for it to sink in. Didn’t get a reply but she’s a busy woman Her Maj so no hard feelings none at all.  Aye, pal if you just wipe the table down a bit. Toasting our Maj, need a clean table! Couldn’t get to the coffin what with the gammie leg and all. Hero Her Maj hung in there to the bitter end. Poor Lizzie. Shouldn’t blame herself. She will, though. Decent woman. Human, you ken what I mean? Caring. Going to put stuff right. All those trade deals and everything. Cheese wasn’t it? Put us on the straight and narrow. On the global map. Growth and what was it? Proclivity, that’s it. Won’t take no shit from no one especially that Nicola. Aye dead right to just ignore her. Polite way of putting it. Lizzie Truss, fine name for a fine leader. I mean they were gunning for Boris. All of them. Not Her Maj but that Sturgeon, Salmond, all of them. That snidely wee Javid. That time Sturgeon snubbed Her Maj. Didn’t even curtsey or nothing. Refusing to let her in the parliament. Vile wee munter. BBC didn’t even report it. They weren’t going to let her in after independence. What pal? Course that’s nae a lie. Apologised for her in one of my letters. Well not for her. You ken what I mean, pal. Stopping her at the border. Imagine. Pond life. Of course it’s true. You’re either not looking or you’re stupid, pal. That woman devoted her life to this country and they were going to boot her out just like that. Marxist wee shites. Taking the castle and looting the jewels. Sturgeon that stopped ma benefits. Aye denied it but we all know. What do you mean it wasnae her, course it was, pal. And her taking dark money too. Hiding behind them fancy shoes. Who goes to work in shoes like that? Can’t even get the traffic flowing. Bloody cycle lanes holding everything up. Can’t even get parked in ma own street. Even refused to put Her Maj on Scottish bank notes. Pathetic. They wanted her off the passports, too. Sent her one of ma passport photos in a letter. Women like to see a face behind a name. Shed a tear when I heard the news. More than a tear. I greeted, pal. Proper greetin. We all did. Bet she was pissed to die in Scotland where the nats hate her. Aye, all pretendy now. Gushing. Don’t’ know what I’ll do without her. Got ma jubilee mug, though. What, you don’t have a jubilee mug, pal? You glaikit wee shite! Only the one chip after all these years. Charles and all that shite about the climate and tampax. Jesus we could do with some more warm in Scotland what with the nats cutting off the energy and free tampax for everyone. Scunnered the economy the pricks. We’ll rue the day that’s what I say you ken we’ll rue the day the queen is dead.

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