Open Letter to the Queen

Hey Queenie,

Can't believe I won't be here when you land! Have left the key under the mat anyways. Just make yourself at home. Hope Ryanair and the Stansted Express weren’t too bad. The cheapest way from the airport is to get the Airport Coach (right outside the door). Get that to Bewley's Hotel in Leopardstown (€8) and then get a taxi to mine.

There's food in the fridge. Even got some crab's toes last time I was in Killybegs. I know!!! Everything else you need is there really. Loo roll etc. Got a few bottles of red at Aldi. If you need anything just nip over to the supermarket.

There's just one thing though. Because of all Josh's allergies, your little travelling companion won't be able to sleep in the flat. Sure the garden will be grand. (No, NOT the prime minister, funny girl! HE’S welcome to stay! There’s a camp bed under the stairs.)

To make up for that, I've asked my pal Rosaleen Hegarty to make him an Aran sweater. She got in touch with Kerry Woollen Mills and asked them to do some little tweed trousers (I wonder how that will work out. For corgis like.), and Hanna Hats are doing a wee tweed cap.

Which one are you bringing with you anyway? Emma, Linnet, Monty, Holly, Willow, Cider, Berry, Candy or Vulcan? What was the one who, ehm passed away? Pharos or Mummie or something like that was it? Sure is a dog-eat-dog world out there!

Anyways, maybe the little outfit will join the hundreds of others in the London City Museum. Oh dear, I do hope the little mutt (soh-rry) doesn't follow in the steps of that rude little sprout of a Brusselois and pee all over it like he did on Paddy's Day!

And just make sure that that Dotty, or is it Dottie, doesn't come with you. I don't want no Aran sweater to be savaged by no bull terrier. Princess Anne's or not! Yes, I know it was ages ago. But once a terrierist always a terrierist.

We had a real blast at that fundraiser at the Meyrick in Galway for Katie and Will. No silly, the money's going to the ISPCC. I know you'll be glad, especially about the ISPCC. What with everything that bloody Dotty (again!) did to those poor children that time.

Talking about the wedding. Isn’t Will one son of a son? Really? Unbelievable that he would postpone his honeyier for to save that grandpa, Nick Barnett. I mean, don’t we all know that he slipped on purpose so’s that Will would come to his rescue. Sure didn’t his wife admit to it and all?

Well, gotta dash. Give us a bell when you get here. And enjoy the show. What’s that saying, “it ain’t over till the fat lady sings”!

Big hug and kisses,
Aisling Ní Acamé

PS I've changed the sheets and quilt covers. PLEEESE be careful if you have another one of your nose bleeds.
PPS You just ignore that friggin Nora Comiskey hon (yeah yeah, that twit who wrote to the Irish Times on April 23). 1916-1921? Frig sake, it’s about time they grew up and got over it!
PPPS Be honest. Weren't you just a teensey weensey bit jealous when you found out that O'Bama was coming to us first? Chalaque!
PPPPS That why you got the iPad? You’re dead right. He can shove his iPod!
PPPPPS In case you get bored with what them boys at the Áras have lined up for you on the 17th, sure feel free to join me in Monaghan. Mightn’t be a bad idea, what with the day that’s in it an’ all.

See the full Irish version here.