Hello, yes, this is Our Majesty the Queen, and one hopes that you have been substantially less naughty than usual.
One knows that we have a lot of fun here, but one would like to- what is it that the kids say?- “get real” for a brief while on the subject of the situation in Sochi.
One was tuning in today to the BBC when one heard news which made one clutch desperately for one's pearls and shriek for the maid to come running with gin and sal volatile. The Mayor of Sochi, Anatoly Pakhomov, reports that there are no gays in his city.
One is quite, quite sure that this news is correct and accurate in every particular, because the only other possibility is that a politician is lying, and surely such a thing could never occur.
Friends, friends, dear friends, one is sure you will join one in a moment of silent Anglican prayer for the poor, bereaved citizens of Sochi. One has oneself known times of deprivation- there was the rationing during the Second War To Which America Showed Up Disgracefully Late, and there were the weeks during which Prince Harry was on one of his benders, during which one was hiding in the most remote of the royal linen closets, trying to avoid the media melee. But never, never, never, has one had to endure the kind of dreadful privation, the brutal, wrenching want, that those brave Sochihans suffer as a daily reality.
Life without gays? Life without music! Life without stars! How could they possibly cope? How do they drag themselves through the weary days without the healing rainbow light of same-sex lovin’ or transgendered behaviour? Heaven only knows what their parties are like and who looks after their homeless kittens.
One has rapidly assembled a crack team, liaised with the Red Cross to arrange an emergency airlift, and will be parachuting gay into the areas where it is needed the most. If you have some extra gay to spare, please give generously. The amount of gay you radiate whilst purchasing your morning cup of coffee could provide a family in Sochi with supplementary gay for over a week, rescuing them from the grey, conforming numbness of their heterosexual stupor.