Oh, so, just a minor thing before we carry on… to the Bible reading cunt on the number 243. Did Jesus tell you to push your way to the front of the queue like a ram-raiding zeppelin in ill-fitting polyfibres? Hmmmn?
So these fine looking human people are Princess Madeleine of Sweden (why would you? Really? They ride bikes and shop in 7/11s over there. That’s not very royal is it?) and her fiancé Jonas Bergstrom. They’re getting married. We’ll call them… ‘MadJon’.
Princess Madeleine, not to be confused with the girl currently living it up with Posh Spice nor the small cake, was proposed to by Jonas Bergstrom – not to be confused with one of those pointless Jonas things – in the garden of the Swedish Royal Family’s summer residence (the Tottenham Hale branch of Ikea), watched by both their families.
How. Creepy. Is. That. Are they one of those royal houses where anyone can go and have a gander? You know, like when anyone who had a minute or two to kill could pop by Versaille on the way to buying a flowery bonnet and a yard of crinoline and watch the French royals at it. It’s like Total Wipeout, only with nicer jewellery.
Anyway, Jonas Bergstrom, etc.
*bows; exits room; closes door. Opens door again, throws in a meatball, closes door*