November 7th, 2003


It's cold outside...

So, let's get this straight. The allegation that a former Palace servant made, or maybe didn't, concerning a member of the Royal Family, that allegation is untrue. So whatever was witnessed, henceforth we shall call it the allegation, is not true. It's hanging from a very thin semantic thread, but, for the sake of clarity, let's repeat again, the allegation is untrue. The allegation made, or not, by the former servant. As the Palace spokesman put it:

"The speculation needs to be brought to an end. The allegation was that the Prince of Wales was involved in the incident. This allegation is untrue. The incident which the former employee claims to have witnessed did not take place."

Call me a pedant, for I am, but this doesn't quite cut the mustard, old chums. Since this statement doesn't sufficiently refute that something took place that involved someone. For the statement admits that there is an 'incident'. The nature of the incident is incorrectly described in the form that the Mail on Sunday was due to publish it. That incident, the false one, did not include Prince Charles. How could it, since it's false. The spectre of an actual incident hangs over these words. Perhaps a more fiendish incident, perhaps less. Who is to say? Would it really matter if anyone did?

To be honest, I'd never imagined that this incident did involve Prince Charles, sorry, not this incident, but the other incident that has yet to be described, that may share many similarities with the false one. They don't refute all such incidents. Good Lord, did I just suggest there may have been more than just one? I had always assumed that Edward was going to stuck his mug into any such incident. Now I find that my imagination is incorrect. Obviously Charles was there with Laurens Van Der Post, the Comte de St-Germain and Biffy the Clown and there was some enthusiastic shotgun cleaning going on. That's a lovely bit of engraving on the stock there, Charles. Not in front of the servants, oops. I wish that the bloody allegation would just come out, because I suspect my imagination is more fruity than anything a bunch of German ingrates can conjure up in their narrow lives, even with the scent of fox blood clouding their judgements. The allegation that makes the sound PING! (our survey said...) should just come out.

The Palace's description of the servant, who was trying to stop the story coming out for fear of being gang-raped by rabid corgis perchance, is particularly glowing:

"There is a particular sadness about this allegation because it was made by a former Royal Household employee who, unfortunately, has suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder and has previously suffered from alcoholism following active service in the Falklands."

I travelled down to Brighton last night to see Xan in concert. The band did really well, although I'm not wild about the production on their first CD, they do sound a lot better live, although the strength of the writing is still apparent. Opening the night was Tim Booth, formerly of James. He's living in Brighton now and seems to have adopted a sort of Kenneth Anger cruising look. He's rather magnanimously surrounded by planets on his non-functioning website. Admittedly, Xan's isn't up to much either, but they're only just starting up. He's teaching a workshop called 'In. To. Me. See' this month which seems like it must be something vaguely esoteric, or at least new agey, but I'm not sure how exactly. There's always been something of the mystic about him, but I wasn't too impressed by his somewhat lumpen set. He's still got an impressive set of pipes, but I got fairly picky about his guitarist and his overly predictable right hand technique. I can get very bitchy about guitarists, especially on rhythm work. It's the 'I could do that' frame of mind. Xan's guitarist, Mark Beacock, plays a desirable twin set of classical and steel strung parlour guitars and seems to be listening a fair deal more.

Caught the last train home, arriving at King's Cross in the misty early hours. I didn't go and look at the sea. I was waiting for something indeterminate. Housework awaits...