Musings from under the Mulberry Tree at Windsor Aug2005

An August evening at Windsor
Under the mulberry tree in the moat
I chanced met with the Duke and the Queen
And my questions got up their goat.

As a woman did you ever do the washing,
Or wake up thinking there’s great drying out to day.
Or think gawd I’d better pay the ESB
As me fridge is on the blink and on its way.

Did you ever peel a spud or grate a carrot
Or grease the cabbage with a shank of ham,
Or wonder what will I do to day for the dinner?
A stew, a curry, a bit of lap and a neck of lamb.

Did you ever cut the grass or sow a flower
Or sort the clutter from a teenager’s room
Or save for curtains or paper for hall, stairs and landing
Or plan new tiles or carpet to break the gloom.

Did you ever help your kids with their homework?
Or load them in the pram and go to town
Or take them on a picnic or to the seaside
Shouting stick together, not too far out or you’ll drown!!

Did you ever wake and wonder,’ what’ll I get them for Xmas’
And worry Santa cannot offer all they want
Did you plead ‘exceptional needs’ to the credit union?
To avoid the kid’s tantrums, tears and taunts.

Johnnser Mullen’s he’s got a fabulous Ninetendo
And Samantha Finn she’s got a 1000-megabyte Eye pod
What we got, Santa must a got from the Vincent’s
Ah ah It’s not fair I don’t believe in Santa or in God.

No! They don’t ever take into account what they’re dressed in
Or the new shoes, trainers, or boots in which they’re shod
But you Mrs Windsor with a mug shot on all legal tender
What money worries have you, you lucky sod.

Have you ever hidden from a loan shark
or told the kids to ‘tell him I’m not in’
or whipped through the change in Philips pockets,
to make ends meet, while he’s homatose recoverin

Did Philip ever shout ‘enough I’m outa here’?
and bang the castle door on the way to the pub.
and come home stocious, buckled, rubber, legless,
and on the ceiling or the wall try hang his grub.

Did you ever resort to refuge in Prozac, Roche, or Valium
or Novenas to Saints Rita, De Porres, Padre Pio or John Paul 2
or threatens to sign yourself into Loman’s or the Gorman
or scream ‘I’ll end up a performing monkey in the Zoo.’

But come to think about it Mrs Windsor
you’re just a queen prawn in the Brit Royalty game
but a parasite, whether royalty, cancer, virus, fungus
or flea, is a parasite just the same.

For if I was to fiddle a free fuel docket
for a bag of coal, turf or bottle of gas,
I’d be dragged before a magistrate to make amends
no wonder they say ‘the Law is an ass’.

But You, with stately homes at Balmoral,
palaces at Windsor and Buckingham
yachts and planes all filled with ill-gotten gains
and the law and the magistrates don’t give a dam.

Put aside your seed and breeds right to conquer
as they did north, south, east and west,
Call the criminal assets to your thralldom
then put the law to the test.

On the other hand
Did you ever have a giggle and burst into laughter
‘till your sides ached and yeh’ fear yeh’ll wet yer’ self
or sing a song and have a royal oul’ Karaoke
or are ye all constipated figurines for the shelf.

No wonder when cloistered in your Castle
and never known a cold or hungry day
inured, inoculated from all human hassle
shielded from life’s struggle and daily fray.

Is it any wonder you take such an elegant photo
With perms and curls and never a hair astray
You never had kids or grandkids dragging outa yeh
And never ever had to work to pay your way.

Yet despite the hardships, the many times I’ve pulled me hair out
Gawd knows like Sinead O Connor, I should be bawld
Yet for all the Royalty in Buckingham or Windsor
I wouldn’t trade you me heartaches or heart scalds.