With His Mother
Sunday. I was in denial yesterday about the hangover. I clearly had one. You know when you wake up the day after the day after (as I did this morning) and notice how much better the day looks through unclouded eyes by comparison? Yes, I thought you did.
The sun is out, they're talking about rain, but north of here, over the Golden Gate bridge up where The Prince of Wales and the Dutchess of Cornwall are mucking about on an organic farm in Marin county. No negative thoughts, by the way. MRE, who was born in Wales, has very sharp opinions about the Prince of Wales, not to mention Winston Churchill, that significantly differ from what you and I see here in and on the media. I assume he was born closer to the source, you understand, what with him being an actual Subject of the Crown and everything, and he's either living in a born up close, easy to comprehend, or a born too close, hard to see the forest from the trees reality. Or something like that.
I myself have many opinions - some of them clear, some of them cloudy - all of them absolutely and criminally correct except for the inconsistencies and errors. Fortunately, inconsistencies and errors are useful in keeping a journal. In running a country, as well, from what I'm seeing. Anyway, the Prince and Princess of Wales are touring about the area and I'm sure they'd love to make the acquaintance of an old American fart who carries a camera. I'm sure they'd drop whatever they're up to for the novelty of having their picture taken.
Where did that come from?
Who knows? Creatures of the Id. We get our ideas here in the Colonies about royalty from the Walt Disney organization. I believe Snow White had an evil stepmother, but otherwise Princes and Princesses are treated as, um, Royalty. Princes, once they become kings, of course, have a less happy history. Disney will do a hundred Lion Kings, though, before it ever does a King Lear.
What do you know about King Lear?
Something about his kingdom and a horse. “One for the other”; “All for one, one for all”. Something like that. I have a copy of it somewhere.
You do know “the horse” thing was Richard III, right?
Without Google it could have been young Hamlet taking the afternoon in Burnham Wood with his mother.