We at The Feed would never consider tapping the phoneline of a member of the royal family or anyone else for that matter. Nor would we plant a listening device in Charles and Camilla’s sitting room. And yet somehow we’ve managed to obtain this transcript of the conversation that gave the world the Coronation Quiche in all its eggy glory. If you try to extract details regarding our confidential source we’ll insist we just made it all up.
“Camilla my love. Where the devil are you?”
“What is it, my king?”
“What are we going to do about this coronation recipe, eh? Mummy had that lovely thing with curry powder and sultanas, you know? Officially with chicken, of course, but much better with swan.”
“Delicious with swan.”
“Have you ever tried chicken?”
“Never.”
“I wonder what it’s like.”
“Much like goose without the personality I should imagine.”
“I expect you’re right.”
“Thank you, Charles.”
“Where was I? Oh yes. What do the people want? That’s what we must ask ourselves. Times are tough I’m led to believe. How can we show the hoi polloi that their royal family, or what’s left of us, is here for them in their hour of need? Not financially of course. That wouldn’t do. But in spirit.”
“Something proletarian but at the same time… special.”
“Exactly, darling.”
“What about pizza? Proles simply adore pizza.”
“True. But Andrew has made rather a sticky mess of pizza. Best leave it alone methinks.”
“Ah yes. Woking and all that.”
“Yes. I say, is Woking a real place?”
“I’m afraid it is.”
“I thought he made it up.”
“We all did.”
“Yes… but look, I think you’re on the right track. We want something proletarian but somehow special, and we want something one can eat with one hand, don’t we? You know, so one can keep working in the mine of the mill or whatever while one’s enjoying one’s coronation treat.”
“Brilliant Charles.”
“Thank you darling. And, you know, they love their e-phones or whatever they’re called. Those little transmitter devices they’re always gawking at. They won’t even have to put the bloody things down.”
“Marvellous Charles, simply marvellous. They don’t deserve you; you know.”
“No. I suppose they don’t.”
“Charles. I think I’ve got it… A quiche!”
“A what?”
“A quiche, darling. It’s a bit like a game pie but there isn’t any game and it doesn’t have a top.”
“What does one put in a pie if one doesn’t have game?
“Eggs.”
“Duck eggs? Quail eggs. Caviar?”
“Chicken eggs.”
“They lay eggs, do they?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Well, one’s always learning. Quiche, quiche… it sounds terribly familiar…. Was that ghastly thing that Kate’s mother served us at tea in her little house a quiche?”
“That’s right my darling. And that’s just the point. Kate’s people are exactly the sort of salt-of-the-earth yeomen-types we’re hoping to win over.”
“I thought Kate’s people were ‘middle class’?”
“I don’t think it matters does it, darling?”
“I expect not. What else do Kate’s people like?”
“Broad beans.”
“I say.”
“Tarragon.”
“Really?”
“Cheese.”
“Fair enough.”
“Cheddar cheese.”
“Oh. Well it sounds revolting. But better a revolting pie than a revolting proletariat, isn’t that right my queen?”
“Oh Charles, you are clever.”
“Thank you, darling.”
Photo by James Harris on Unsplash
