SAINTS PRESERVE US

Palatial Spin

His Royal Highness the Duke of York’s recent interview with the British Broadcasting Corporation has been described variously as a “train wreck” and a “car crash” by breathless Royal watchers. In yet another fruitless effort to set the record straight and clear his name, the chastened prince, once christened "Randy Andy" by Britain's notorious tabloids, sat down with meGeoff with his damage control switch in the “on” position. What follows is a world-exclusive, the complete unexpurgated, unredacted transcript of our conversation.

meGeoff: Welcome, Your Highness. Thanks for sitting down with this blog. I was in York last month, by the way, lovely city.

HRH: I’m its duke, you know. It’s my dukedom. Hmm, quite. All mine, royal blood and inheritance, lese-majesty and grace of God and all that, wot?

meG: Sounds nice.

HRH: Oh yes, Mummy gave it to me. Rather a grand present, I should think. I’ve never actually visited but I love presents. And cake because cake comes with presents. Pound cake, especially. Delicious.

meG: Um, some serious questions and allegations have been raised about your relationship and indeed your alleged actions with a convicted sex offender, the disgraced financier Jeffrey Epstein.

HRH: We don’t have a relationship. He’s dead, poor sodomy.

meG: Excuse me?

HRH: The poor sod’s deceased. Jeffrey was a wonderful businessman. Full of acumen, I dare say. He had a special gift for procurement. I certainly took advantage of my association with him on behalf of my various charitable endeavours, especially Wayward Schoolgirls. Absolutely tragic social problem, that. Breaks my heart. Spare the rod and spoil the child, eh? Bit of firm discipline. Tally-ho!

meG: Um, you were a frequent guest of his, at his homes in New York, Florida and the U.S. Virgin Islands.

HRH: No, actually, not that I can recall.

meG: There are photographs, including one of you with your accuser who was a minor at the time.

HRH: That’s just not cricket, by George! I remember those nights explicitly. I was at a Pizza a Go-Go in Wanking.

meG: Um, every time?

HRH: Tomato sauce is very healthy for one’s prostate. Slice of pie and the old sausage, eh, wot?

meG: Surely -

HRH: Look, I’m a fucking prince, ain’t I? I don’t normally munch with the proles, do I? So I’d fucking remember that, wouldn’t I? Mummy doesn’t serve pizza at Buck House, does she? A bit of crumpet and tea, innit? I don’t know how you fucking common people eat the fucking food you do!

meG: Calm, calm…

HRH: Don’t fucking tell me to calm down when I’m excited! Guards! Seize this impertinent colonial and lock him in the Tower!

meG: Wait! I’ve-

Guard (entering): The special S and M dungeon, sir? The reason I ask of course is because your nephew's down there play-acting in his Nazi uniform.

HRH: Oh for fuck’s sake, fucking hell. No, no, just the regular one then.

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