Diary of a Queen: Berlin Pt2

Dear One’s Diary

Arrived safe and sound after a somewhat turbulent flight yesterday – I calmed my nerves by getting jolly on overpriced vodka. They’re fucking robbers, those Ryanair bastards. But I can’t stay angry at Michael O’Leary for long. I find him oddly alluring. Philip and I occasionally role-play; him as Michael, me as the anthropomorphic embodiment of the concept of profit. Oh, those are passionate nights. Checked into my hotel and in my drunken state almost gave the game away; momentarily forgetting that I’m here as Lois Carmen Denominator and not HRH Queen Elizabeth II. I covered my tracks by heavily tipping the young Aryan bell-hop who was taking my bags. I really shouldn’t have brought my tiara and sceptre with me, I suppose, but that’s what happens when you pack in a hurry, isn’t it?

I slept soundly, and arose early to see some sights on a walking tour. Well, I say walking, but I actually rented a Segway scooter. I’m not quite as young as I used to be and I don’t want to have my corns flare up at me on the first day of my holidays. We took in many a location; the Brandenburg Gates and the statue of Victory over Paris almost brought a tear to my eye – nothing touches me more than anti-French sentiment. Fucking frogs. We visited the largest stretch of Berlin Wall still standing – it’s surrounded by barriers to prevent people taking chunks as souvenirs but I reckon if I head back in the early hours of the night that I can hop the barrier, bash a chunk off with my sceptre and take cover in a nearby pub in no time at all, especially with the increased mobility and speed the Segway gives me. I think I’ll invest in one for home. Should make traversing Buckingham Palace a whole new experience. Among other locations, we also stopped by the site of Hitler’s death. Ah, diary, the nostalgia at revisiting the Fuhrerbunker brought me back to that glorious day in April 1945 when, incognito as Eva Braun, I surprised an amorous Adolf in the bunkerbedroom with a lady-magnum and brought his reign of terror to an end, single-handedly. Those were good times; I didn’t have as much fun after that until I brought the Cuban Missile Crisis to a close.

Following my walking tour, I visited the Zoo to lay a wreath for poor Knut, then made my way back to the hotel for a rest. Night fell, and I spent the evening whizzing about on the scooter visiting various pubs and clubs. I berated some ladies of the night who approached me offering their services; asking them what their mothers would think in perfect Deutsche. Things got heated and I gave one of them a whack with my handbag. Alas, I forgot my sceptre was in there and fell to the ground like a sack of herpes-riddled potatoes. I made a speedy getaway and settled in for the night at a pleasant little bar. I may have gotten slightly tipsy, as I awoke this morning back in my hotel room with no recollection of the journey back, no sceptre and no sign of my scooter. I think I’ll miss that more than the sceptre, which was getting a little bit worn looking. And there's plenty more where it came from, anyway.

I have lots of plans for the remainder of my holiday, however I see things are quite fraught back home in London. If that twit Cameron and bumbling oaf Boris can’t set things straight I’ll have to head back and sort it out myself.

Ich Bin Ein Lizzie

Diary of a Queen: Berlin Pt1

Dear One’s Diary

The flight and hotel have been booked – I’m heading to Berlin for my Summer sojourn. It’s always nice to visit the motherland, and to do so in disguise, as one of the common people, affords a wonderful opportunity to experience a different side to a place; one that normally eludes me as I am forced to march through a procession of formal events, pomp and pageantry. I first hit upon the notion of using a disguise back in 1998, when I desperately wished to visit Brazil during Carnival but couldn’t afford to be discovered parting hard in the streets of Rio given that I was meant to be showing restraint following the death of Diana. Ironic that I had to go to such lengths to avoid scandal given the amount of it she generated during her public life. And doubly ironic that her “death” should inconvenience me so at the time when I actually have her chained up in the Tower, alive and mostly well. But I digress. Over the years I have carefully refined my disguise into a distinct alter ego – Lois Carmen Denominator. Married seven times to various multi-millionaire hotel magnates and entrepreneurs who died suspiciously, Lois is an eccentric and profligate woman-of-means, a refined and sophisticated culture vulture and occasional party animal. She is an enigma, wrapped in a guessing game, stuffed into a blender full of questions and smeared all over the playing pieces of Cluedo. She has become a dear friend to me, this persona I adopt, and I slip into her as easily as I do a pair of scarlet crotch-less suspenders.

I plan to take in several sights, and I may perhaps slip out of the Lois Common Denominator disguise to share some tea with Angela and give her some more advice on how she could appear more feminine. Though she didn’t take kindly to my previous advice on hemlines and lipstick and promptly deleted it from her Wall. Perhaps I'll share with her my ideas on sorting out this European debt crisis instead, or have a laugh or two about that insecure toad Nicholas.

Ich Bin Ein Lizzie