shaking the queen's hand

So before you think I totally stole these pictures - I didn't - I screengrabbed them which incidentally isn't exactly stealing - I have bought two of them already. At £11 a piece, just so you know.

Watermarks aside, check it the fuck out. I have a memento. Proof this actually happened." (I don't quite believe it myself.) Some brag pictures for my parents and family, who around the world, are as excited as I am was to have met Queen Elizabeth II this week.

She looks very small and lovely - bless her - I look slightly awkward and completely dazed, and as this guy caught me mid-courtesy.

 

[Some guy in background saying my name out loud]

"Hello Your Majesty."

 

 Er. Will courtesy really really awkwardly now. Kind of cross my legs and bow down as you still manage to smile at me.

 Then say something like "It's lovely to meet you," as the Duke of Edinburgh looks on beside you. With whom I'd natter about goat's cheese later on in the evening.

Her hair so perfectly coiffed, my sunglasses sliding off my face.

My Dad sent me this picture to remind me of my humble roots. That once upon a time, my face was smeared with mud. And I was two. And needed a bath. And was small.

In other news, I fly to San Francisco tomorrow. My annual trip to the liberal little gay and Capetonian-like city, filled with cheap shopping, good times and, well, work.

She Who Loves Tweed and I aim to so some mahoosive amounts of shopping, if our hungover bodies can handle it.

Hello San Francisco, my old friend.