The New Year’s Honours List

I’m in a snappy mood this morning – no sign of my name of the New Year’s Honour List yet again. And there was me,  practising how to receive my honour from my monarch. Being humble, I didn’t presume on receiving a ticket to the House of Lords, or even to being called ‘Sir’ which would have shown how superior I was to everyone else. I would have settled for a CBE (Commander of the British Empire) or an MBE (Member of the Order of the British Empire). But not even that.

What makes it worse, I’d been practising. You wait in the line, then when your name is announced you stop forward and stand in the spot marked in front of your monarch. He’ll probably mutter something totally meaningless to you  but for God’s sake don’t tell him to speak  up or explain. Instead, nod your head  to show yhou realise  he is more important than you, take the appropriate bauble in your hand – or allow it to be pinned to your chest – then take a step backwards before turning and walking away. No fists pumping the air, no heel-clicks, no  happy cries of “The working class/Can kiss my ass!” etc. Just walk away.

Alas, I am left with the bitter thought of what might have been.   The ungrateful bastards.