All that pallaver over Prince Harry showing his little ginger botty
brought back memories of 1963 when his father went a little, er, off the
rails in Stornoway. Prince Charles was only 14 at the time when he
wandered into the Crown Hotel and went on the bevvy.
It wasn’t a half and a half either, or even a pint of heavy. He started
on the cherry brandy – because it was the only drink he could think of.
Big mistake. That stuff knocks your block off.
Nine years ago, to mark the 40th anniversary of the incident, a crowd of
us gathered in the Crown to recreate the ambience of that day when the
jovial teenage prince strode in and announced: “Mine’s a large one.”
Entering into the spirit of the sombre occasion, Effie, the boss of the
Crown, kindly handed us cherry brandies. That was nice – it is certainly
not a cheap drink. Boomph. They went straight to my ankles which then
took on a mind of their own and decided not to support my body any more.
I was flat out on the carpet before I could say: “Gosh, that tastes like
something the cat would have done.”
As I lay there, trying to get the heavy-duty Axminster out of my mouth,
my head was spinning and I began to imagine things. We had earlier been
wondering aloud whether HRH himself would pop in to mark the occasion
and, in my befuddled state, I thought he just did. No, it was just a
plumber from Point who had the biggest ears I’ve ever seen on a
commoner. I suspect he has royal blood. He certainly liked the prince’s drink of
choice.
Desperately scrambling to get back to my feet, I knocked over a trayful
of cherry brandies. Oops, mistake. They had belonged to Seonag Monk, the
afternoon platter-spinner on Gaelic radio, who had cheerfully eschewed
her usual brandy tipple for the auspicious anniversary of the illegal
royal swigging.
She has never forgiven me. Do you know what; that woman has hardly spoken to me since. It was an accident, a’ Sheonag. Honest. Back in ‘63, the story of the prince’s under-age tippling also went round the world. There were furious denials from the palace about the irresponsible press making up stories – and then they had to admit it was all true.
I was talking yesterday to someone who was in that very bar when the
prince ordered the drink. Maybe he’ll tell me what actually happened at
the next anniversary in about 10 months time. Poor Charles was carpeted at Gordonsoun School and he got a rocket from his mother. He has said that, even to this day, the two words cherry and brandy make him wince. In Harry’s case, the two words to make him shudder will probably be strip and billiards.
Despite his experience in Stornoway, the heir to the throne didn’t go
off the rails – not half as much as people from that town often do. He
went on to marry and live happily ever after. OK maybe not quite, but every marriage involves ups and downs. My wife made me change my name. Well, not change it exactly but she made me insert something to remind her of how good a kisser I was. That’s how I became Iain X. Did you not know that?
Then she took to just calling me X. That was not a kiss – no, that was
her warning me that that I was now her X husband but could easily become
her ex-husband. How subtle was that?
Now I’m just not so sure what my princess gets up to when I’m not in
residence at our own palace. My neighbours keep telling me of tall, dark
strangers calling at all times of the day and night while I’m off
earning a crust. She always has some excuse, of course.
“Och, that was just the meter reader working late.” “That was just the coalman with a special delivery just for me.” Or her latest one: “That was just the man from the Free Church (Continuing). He was concerned for my soul.” Oh heck. If she took her shoes off, what else was off? Why do people come round after 11pm when I am away yet never when I’m home? Something’s going on.
Years ago, women who were up to no good while their menfolk were away
would put a packet of washing powder in the window. It was always a
packet of Omo. That was the sign. They were saying: “Old man out.”
The hussies always denied it, of course. They were just very busy, they
had to put the Omo somewhere, they had no idea what it stood for. Yeah,
right. Everyone knew Omo meant “old man out”.
They don’t make Omo any more but my neighbour Angry Annie tells me that
when I was away last week she spotted something in the living room
window that I should know about.
It was a cube of Oxo.
Would you like to borrow a crash helmet Iain? They tell me they are very effective against rolling pins.