Fag Hag Diary

Faggy ain't saying she a goldigga. Actually... Tuesday

Not sure if anyone noticed but a royalty went and got himself one of those wedding thingies recently. Hurrah!

What a glorious day it was for Peter man with giant head and très Asda price too for Queeny and Duke de Racista! That’s because a lovely magazine like the Spectator or the New Statesman, I forget which – paid one million trillion dollars for some of the Kodak snappy snaps!

And do you want to know the most touching thing of all? The lovely bride lady, Autumn, (ahh, seasons and days of the week for a name – so lower middle class) claimed she hadn’t the faintest, Philleas Foggiest, idea who royal Peter was when she met him. And that’s what won his little rugger bugger Royal heart. That’s right.

So was she a botanist working in the furthest reaches of Madagascar perhaps? Or living amongst the Amish people as an agricultural labourer? No the lady who definitely hadn’t heard of the Queen’s first born grandson who is 11th in line to the thronetta, was an actress. And promotions girl. Who lived in one of the biggest cities in Canada. Which reminds me, is it nearly 4 o’ clock and we still haven’t had a sing-song? Anyone fancy a burst of Goldigga..?

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