Yesterday, a nice thing happened. There was an announcement of the birth of a baby. Royal babies are usually announced after days of reporters waiting outside a hospital followed by Nicholas Witchell standing on a stepladder. Covid has broken us all. What has the world come to? Poor Nick didn't even have to get his stepladder out of the garage. The couple weren't even in the UK. Surely it's possible to live anywhere now. You could be the King of England and choose to live in Lichtenstein, to enjoy the full benefits of UK touring musicians, and perform all your Royal duties via zoom. Why not?
But this Royal couple made their own announcement. There wasn't even a note pinned to the gates of Buckingham Palace.
I understand that they have broken with tradition and are no longer part of the family anyway. They don't want the press looking at their every move, only the things they want them to see. Everyone is cross with them, there's a war between the sister-in-laws (when isn't there?) and we are all supposed to be furious.
Except that it's a little baby. Can't we all be nice for the sake of a little baby?
Apparently not! No. We have to be mean and racist and angry. We have to criticize the choice of name. We have to be furious that they didn't get permission to name their own child after it's great grandmother and it's grandmother. We have to post replies on social media and newspaper articles like, "Shameless".
It's a bloody baby, for God's sake.
Also, all these people being mean are spoiling my joke and I'm furious about that. When I heard the name I said, "Oh, Lilibet Di, sounds like the kind of thing Charles might be muttering in his sleep."
It was a joke. It would have been funny if everyone wasn't being so mean.
Stop being mean. Babies are lovely. Jokes are funny.
There is no picture with this blog because now that you've all been mean they'll probably never let us see this baby.
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