Prince Philip, husband of Queen Elizabeth, has died
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Re: Prince Philip, husband of Queen Elizabeth, has died
Utter fucking shite. “A system that convinced most of the population they were less than worthy as humans” It is Prince Philip who just died, not Henry the eighth.lagrange wrote: ↑Sun Apr 11, 2021 9:10 amI didnt know him personally, so no bad feelings, RIP, but he was part of a system that convinced most of the population that they were less than worthy as humans, and he was a member of a cretinous family whose obsession with power and wealth originated in medieval crimes and continued to this day. Bring back the guillotine (but know when to stop this time).Chad Sexington wrote: ↑Sat Apr 10, 2021 2:35 pmThere’s always one.
Pray tell, who exactly has a foot on their neck, and who’s foot is it?
The modern monarchy is largely symbolic, most of their duties are representing charities and good causes, they have little to no say about day to day living for the vast majority of the population. Ok they are largely subsidized by the taxpayer (averaging 60 pence per person per year last time I checked) but an awful lot of of that is offset by cash generated for the economy by the tourism the royal family attracts to the U.K.
No disputing it’s a good gig for those lucky enough to be born into it (I wish it was me) but it’s a bit like winning the Lottery, only a small number of folk will ever hit the jackpot, but good luck to those that do I say.
I get it, you don’t approve of the monarchy (although the majority of the Queens subjects do) and that’s your prerogative, but don’t spout made up shit to try and justify it, and to talk of executing people because of who their ancestors/forbears were/are is pathetic frankly.
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Re: Prince Philip, husband of Queen Elizabeth, has died
Caveat: this is an opinion piece by an Ozzie writer, tongue in cheek so hope it doesn't offend..
Goodnight, sweet prince: Yes, Philip was also Danish, though not all that sweet
When beggars die, there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.
No sign yet of celestial fireworks on the death of Philip, Duke of Edinburgh et al, but Shakespeare is always useful for poshing up a piece on royalty. Best to get in early before the baying pack of sodden tabloid fabulists falls all over it.
In truth, my knowledge of the Windsors is patchy. Working in London, I once had drinks at the Palace with Princess Anne: jolly good gin and canapés, Ma’am, and much angst at the sad decline of English village cricket. Mostly, though, we’re all stuck with the lying tabloid rags of what used to be Fleet Street. QUEEN’S GRIEF: ANDREW’S TEEN LOVER, etc.
Mon Repos Palace, where Prince Philip was born.
But diligent research reveals that Philip sprang from the usual bed-hopping crew of minor European bluebloods descended, inevitably, from the fecund loins of Queen Victoria. His mother, Princess Alice of Something-or-Other, bore him on the kitchen table in a crumbling villa in Corfu. A year later, with a junta of Greek colonels howling for his princely father’s blood, the wee mite was concealed in an orange crate and spirited away on a Royal Navy destroyer. From then on his mother largely ignored him, sent him to live with the English Mountbattens (née Battenburg), succumbed to schizophrenia and founded a convent of Greek Orthodox nuns. All very complicated. One of Philip’s brothers-in-law was an SS officer.
Explains a lot, really. After that it could only be up. If up is the word for a life of trailing your queenly missus, hands clasped behind your back, enquiring earnestly how long the lady mayoress has been making those delicious scones and do send the recipe to the Palace. Questions, always questions. Do you export many Morris Minors to Brazil? The worst gig, I suppose, was gritting the teeth to hobnob with some ghastly terrorist who two years before had been murdering your countrymen but was now the self-anointed president of some African hellhole where the Union Jack was being ceremonially lowered for the last time. Must we go, dear? Yes, Philip, we must.
No wonder the poor bastard got bored and lashed out. In what they used to call Fleet Street, an entire industry sprang up to report Philip’s gaffes. (The word is only ever used by journalists, and only in respect of His Royal Highness.) “If you stay here much longer you’ll all be slitty-eyed,” he once told some British students in China.
If only Indigenous Australians had retuned fire on one of Philip’s notorious gaffes.
My favourite HRH gaffe actually lead-ballooned in Australia, when he asked a group of grizzled Indigenous elders “Are you lot still throwing spears ?” The retort should have been, “And are you lot still stealing our land, raping our women and poisoning the flour?” but, esprit d’escalier, nobody gets that lucky.
Philip first visited Sydney as an unmarried midshipman in a battleship in 1940 when, as one does, one cut a carnal swathe through the young ladies of the port. For years afterwards royal tour organisers lived in fear that some cash-strapped Old Girl from Ascham or Abbotsleigh would seize the timely moment to turn a handy buck from New Idea with PHILIP: OUR NIGHTS OF PASSION. All hell did break loose on the first royal tour in 1954 when husband and wife had a blazing row at a homestead in Victoria, the travelling hacks deliciously startled when a flustered Philip bounded out the door and onto the lawn, dodging an airborne tennis racket and sandshoes hurled at him by a shouting monarch. The press secretary swore the gang to silence on pain of The Tower.
For a chap who has every gong going, from The Garter to Ethiopia’s Grand Cross with Chain of the Order of the Queen of Sheba, to Mexico’s Collar of the Order of the Aztec Eagle, the Australian knighthood so madly conferred on him by the Onioneater must have been a surprise.
Such an anti-climax when the Australia Post package arrived with the mail at breakfast:
What have you got there, Philip?
Apparently I’m an Australian Knight.
How lovely. Another gee-gaw to add to the collection. Do pass the marmalade.
Royalty is inherently ridiculous, as it can only be. The serfs expect you to lead a home life of exemplary virtue while never having to pick up the dog poo, file a tax return or paint the bathroom ceiling. You make your own fun, although I don’t think it’s true Philip was the hooded, naked waiter at those rollicking country house weekends at Cliveden in the 1960s as The Crown suggested. Incongruous is OK. Bizarrely, you can be president of the World Wildlife Fund and still spend the summer slaughtering grouse on an industrial scale on some blasted heath in Scotland.
Anyway. Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. Yes, Philip was also Danish, though not all that sweet. No better than he should have been but not nearly as bad as he might have been.
https://www.brisbanetimes.com.au/world/ ... 575kf.html
Goodnight, sweet prince: Yes, Philip was also Danish, though not all that sweet
When beggars die, there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.
No sign yet of celestial fireworks on the death of Philip, Duke of Edinburgh et al, but Shakespeare is always useful for poshing up a piece on royalty. Best to get in early before the baying pack of sodden tabloid fabulists falls all over it.
In truth, my knowledge of the Windsors is patchy. Working in London, I once had drinks at the Palace with Princess Anne: jolly good gin and canapés, Ma’am, and much angst at the sad decline of English village cricket. Mostly, though, we’re all stuck with the lying tabloid rags of what used to be Fleet Street. QUEEN’S GRIEF: ANDREW’S TEEN LOVER, etc.
Mon Repos Palace, where Prince Philip was born.
But diligent research reveals that Philip sprang from the usual bed-hopping crew of minor European bluebloods descended, inevitably, from the fecund loins of Queen Victoria. His mother, Princess Alice of Something-or-Other, bore him on the kitchen table in a crumbling villa in Corfu. A year later, with a junta of Greek colonels howling for his princely father’s blood, the wee mite was concealed in an orange crate and spirited away on a Royal Navy destroyer. From then on his mother largely ignored him, sent him to live with the English Mountbattens (née Battenburg), succumbed to schizophrenia and founded a convent of Greek Orthodox nuns. All very complicated. One of Philip’s brothers-in-law was an SS officer.
Explains a lot, really. After that it could only be up. If up is the word for a life of trailing your queenly missus, hands clasped behind your back, enquiring earnestly how long the lady mayoress has been making those delicious scones and do send the recipe to the Palace. Questions, always questions. Do you export many Morris Minors to Brazil? The worst gig, I suppose, was gritting the teeth to hobnob with some ghastly terrorist who two years before had been murdering your countrymen but was now the self-anointed president of some African hellhole where the Union Jack was being ceremonially lowered for the last time. Must we go, dear? Yes, Philip, we must.
No wonder the poor bastard got bored and lashed out. In what they used to call Fleet Street, an entire industry sprang up to report Philip’s gaffes. (The word is only ever used by journalists, and only in respect of His Royal Highness.) “If you stay here much longer you’ll all be slitty-eyed,” he once told some British students in China.
If only Indigenous Australians had retuned fire on one of Philip’s notorious gaffes.
My favourite HRH gaffe actually lead-ballooned in Australia, when he asked a group of grizzled Indigenous elders “Are you lot still throwing spears ?” The retort should have been, “And are you lot still stealing our land, raping our women and poisoning the flour?” but, esprit d’escalier, nobody gets that lucky.
Philip first visited Sydney as an unmarried midshipman in a battleship in 1940 when, as one does, one cut a carnal swathe through the young ladies of the port. For years afterwards royal tour organisers lived in fear that some cash-strapped Old Girl from Ascham or Abbotsleigh would seize the timely moment to turn a handy buck from New Idea with PHILIP: OUR NIGHTS OF PASSION. All hell did break loose on the first royal tour in 1954 when husband and wife had a blazing row at a homestead in Victoria, the travelling hacks deliciously startled when a flustered Philip bounded out the door and onto the lawn, dodging an airborne tennis racket and sandshoes hurled at him by a shouting monarch. The press secretary swore the gang to silence on pain of The Tower.
For a chap who has every gong going, from The Garter to Ethiopia’s Grand Cross with Chain of the Order of the Queen of Sheba, to Mexico’s Collar of the Order of the Aztec Eagle, the Australian knighthood so madly conferred on him by the Onioneater must have been a surprise.
Such an anti-climax when the Australia Post package arrived with the mail at breakfast:
What have you got there, Philip?
Apparently I’m an Australian Knight.
How lovely. Another gee-gaw to add to the collection. Do pass the marmalade.
Royalty is inherently ridiculous, as it can only be. The serfs expect you to lead a home life of exemplary virtue while never having to pick up the dog poo, file a tax return or paint the bathroom ceiling. You make your own fun, although I don’t think it’s true Philip was the hooded, naked waiter at those rollicking country house weekends at Cliveden in the 1960s as The Crown suggested. Incongruous is OK. Bizarrely, you can be president of the World Wildlife Fund and still spend the summer slaughtering grouse on an industrial scale on some blasted heath in Scotland.
Anyway. Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. Yes, Philip was also Danish, though not all that sweet. No better than he should have been but not nearly as bad as he might have been.
https://www.brisbanetimes.com.au/world/ ... 575kf.html
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Re: Prince Philip, husband of Queen Elizabeth, has died
Although this is very funny, i doubt it will offend anybody.
Although not strictly focused on the Royal Consort himself, It is still relevant and quite insightful
MPs line up to parrot platitudes in tribute to Prince Philip
Boris Johnson leads in trotting out the tropes about a polymath with a sense of service and selflessness
MPs hate to feel excluded from any national event and so, naturally enough, the House of Commons was recalled a day early from recess to allow the politicians to have their say. Even when they hadn’t really got anything to say. Especially when they really hadn’t got anything to say. So as ever on these occasions, the interest was less in what MPs had to say about the duke and more in what their speeches said about themselves.
Prince Philip would have been gratified that his real friends had kept their silence and astonished by the number of strangers who claimed to have some insight into his personality.
https://www.theguardian.com/politics/20 ... nce-philip
Although not strictly focused on the Royal Consort himself, It is still relevant and quite insightful
MPs line up to parrot platitudes in tribute to Prince Philip
Boris Johnson leads in trotting out the tropes about a polymath with a sense of service and selflessness
MPs hate to feel excluded from any national event and so, naturally enough, the House of Commons was recalled a day early from recess to allow the politicians to have their say. Even when they hadn’t really got anything to say. Especially when they really hadn’t got anything to say. So as ever on these occasions, the interest was less in what MPs had to say about the duke and more in what their speeches said about themselves.
Prince Philip would have been gratified that his real friends had kept their silence and astonished by the number of strangers who claimed to have some insight into his personality.
https://www.theguardian.com/politics/20 ... nce-philip
Re: Prince Philip, husband of Queen Elizabeth, has died
Rest In Peace Old Fella
Re: Prince Philip, husband of Queen Elizabeth, has died
This is Prince Philip’s favourite hymn
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Re: Prince Philip, husband of Queen Elizabeth, has died
What a bunch of privilleged cunts and failures that followed the coffin, have any of them actually done anything for the country. Where's the gender equality in that funeral procession, not an O-level to rub between them.
I will not acknowledge respect for someone who is so ignorant/arrogant towards my country he doesn't deserve the title of my city.
I will not acknowledge respect for someone who is so ignorant/arrogant towards my country he doesn't deserve the title of my city.
Yes sir, I can boogie, I can boogie, boogie, boogie all night long.
Re: Prince Philip, husband of Queen Elizabeth, has died
One I am sure will be missed and not forgotten by many, rest in peace.
Always "hope" but never "expect".
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Re: Prince Philip, husband of Queen Elizabeth, has died
I'm sure you are right, many ordinary people will wake up tomorrow and struggle with that huge void in their life, not only in England but across the world.
Yes sir, I can boogie, I can boogie, boogie, boogie all night long.
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