In recognition of Her Maj the Jelly Bean's sixty years on the Throne today (can't have done them piles any good)a comedy story thread to be continued/read by you and you........and you too.

The Palace had seen better days.

"A goalless draw against Middlesbrough? Borrr-ing !" exclaimed Liz as she wrestled the remote from her sleeping husband's clutching hands. "Ah uh steady on there old chap .. hmm rubber strapon camel .." Phil murmured sleepily.

"Oh Phillip why doesn't anything exciting ever happen to us?" Liz sighed as she clicked randomly through the Freeview Channels.

Suddenly.... nothing happened. But it happened suddenly....

There was a knock on the door, Liz looked round for a servant but mysteriously in a mysterious way there were none present, not even a pheasant pluckers servant nor a pheasant pluckers son.

Eventually she whispered tentatively "Come in!" (as Queen of The Commonwealth she was quite fluent in Tentative) Liz had no sooner uttered her words when the door began to creak slowly open and then she repressed an involuntary gasp as......

Sarah Ferguson stood there looking rough, which was pretty normal, yet today was different - today she looked very rough. She was holding the hand of a small urchin-type boy. Attached to the hand was the rest of him.
"Please help," begged Sarah. "I'm really in trouble this time."

The Queen shook her husband, "Wake up Phillip!", she pleaded, Phil slowly stirred and looked around in confusion. He eventually focussed on The Duchess of Dosh. "Feck ! Tits ! Ginger !" he exclaimed.

"Look at who she is with !" urged Her Maj pointing a trembling finger. NB - Due to the absence of servants she had to point her own finger.

"Arse ! Darkie ! Zombie !" Phil yelled in utter astonishment as his bleary gaze fell upon the dusky urchin.

"Yes, dear" replied the Queen, "You are quite right, it is Michael Jackson..."

"...and he..."

Proceeded to do the 'moon walk' ;'Good Lord' said the Queen, Philip agreed, 'Yes they have strange rhythm , the Darkies', then the phone rang...

'and'

..then Phil said: "You know, creature, isn't it about time you let Charles be King?"

"Over my dead body!" replied Elizabeth, fingering her..

iPhone 4s

Suddenly Phil went rigid, then marched over to the front door - he opened it with a flourish, to find Piers Morgan listening through the letterbox..

"Don't do that!" shouted Phillip.. "Otherwise, you'll go all slitty-eared!"

"Off with his head!" screamed Liz, as Morgan ingratiatingly tugged his..

Quote: Stylee TingTing @ February 10 2012, 12:37 AM GMT

..as Morgan ingratiatingly tugged his..

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..forelock, and slithered away. Phillip put down his cheroot and sipped long and hard at his Rémy VSOP. "You know?" said the Queen. "I think we should ring Stylee..she'll know exactly what to do.."

"Good grief!" raged Phillip. "Not him! She's in my bad books!"

"What..?" replied the Queen. "Stylee's in those Mills&Boon thingies that you keep under the bed?"

"Ummm.. what..?!! Harrumph.." said Phillip, embarrassedly. "No.. no.. she gave us that tip in the 4.30 at Haydock last Saturday.."

"Well.." sighed the Queen. "What's wrong with that?"

"She got it from a Rabbi!" blasted Phillip, striking his footpage with a flyswitch that had been presented to him by Oginga-Odinga..

"I don't care!" gushed Liz. "I want to phone him.. Stylee always gives good.. ummm.. you know.. wotsit.."

"Oh go on then, gel.." frowned Phillip, as he returned to his copy of H&E.

So Liz took her mobile out of her posset and tentatively fingered the tiny buttons. A look of adoration beatifically came over her face as she held it to her ear.

"Stylee?" she cooed. "Is that you?"

"Are you calling from TalkTalk?" said the voice on the other end, gruffly. "'cos if you are, you can just bugg-"

"No no!" laughed Liz. "It's me, Stylee.."

"I'm Stylee!" rebuffed the voice. "I've told you before! Take me off your database, you fu..."

"No no, Stylee!" laughed Liz. "It's me.. you know.. Lizzy-poos.."

"Ah!" replied Stylee, as a blush of realisation flooded her psyche. "What can I do for you?"

"Well Stylee.." continued Her Maj. "We don't know what to do.. and we were wondering what you thought, you know.."

Stylee tugged hard and long at her beard, ruminating deeply. After a nanosecond of thought, she took in a deep breath.

"Well.." it said. "I think you should all move to Canada.."

"Really?" replied the Queen, interestedly. "What a good idea! No.. wait.. what would we do about all our palaces and property? We couldn't just all up sticks and leave, just like that!"

"Oh.." purred Stylee. "I'll take good care of all that.."

"Hmmmm.." pondered Her Maj. "You won't move all those caravan thingies in, like you did in.. ummm.. that foreign place, will you?"

"Where?" enquired the it-devil. "Uhlan Bhator?"

"No.." replied the Queen. "I mean Essex.."

"Naaah.. course I won't.." she responded. "Not on your nelly.."

"..and.." continued the Queen. "You will take good care of my Praetorian Gu.. oh.. I mean.. the Armed Services, the Police, the Guards Regiment, the Old Etonians, the landed gentry, the Clergy, the Conservative Party.. and those lovely Arsenal/Millwall/any team other than CPFC/ supporters, won't you?"

"Oh yes.." replied the she-god. "I think you'll love what I've got in store for them.."

"Oh that's marvellous!" gushed Her Maj. "That's all settled then! Hey-ho.. oh.. just one last thing, Stylee... umm.. ummm.. you couldn't get any skunk, could you? Only Phillip's gone and bonged it all away!"

"Sorry Liz.." deadpanned Stylee. "Harry just bought the last henry.."

"WHAT?!!" screamed the Queen, as her face turned purple with rage.. "I'm going to..

...lift up this phone because it's bloody ringing again! "

There was a prolonged interlude of heavy breathing before a faint voice eventually gasped excitedly; "Are you wearing panties...?"

"Max Clifford ! You naughty naughty man!", giggled Her Maj.

Sarah Ferguson squealed with delight ; "Oh Ma'am please ask him about the latest adaption of my kiddies book ? " she pleaded.

Her Maj glared at the Duchess contemptuously, "One already realises that; 'Budgie The Wee Hard Bastard Of A Helicopter' was nothing more than a blatant attempt to exploit the Glaswegian market ! " she snapped with acidic scorn.

"Talking about slitty-eyed darkies.." interrupted Phillip, pointing his riding crop at Michael Jackson.

"What are YOU doing here?" he enquired with measured Royal Politeness.

"Aren't you supposed to be frightfully dead or something old chap?"

I'm feeling guilty now. Times are hard at the palace:

Phillip ejaculated all over the ruddy typewriter! so much fun.

Quote: Allan OB @ February 6 2012, 6:12 PM GMT

Suddenly.... nothing happened. But it happened suddenly....

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This is a Goon Show line from The Dreaded Batter Pudding Hurler.

Send for the Mayor! screamed her Madge' so Boris turns up and shouts....