More Majesty

I heard the voice, saw the figure and instinctively dropped into the deepest curtsey that I could. Once down however, I had no idea how long I should stay that way. At the school that I went to - made St Trinians look like a convent - we were always encouraged to see the world as a place where women were equal to men (if not a little superior in fact) and all other nature. However, maturity has brought with it a little common sense about the realities of the World and I knew that when in the presence of my Queen the done thing is to stretch my pelvic floor as far as it would go and bend my head in such a way as to make me look as if I had lost a contact lens on the royal Axminster.

I noticed that Her Majesty was extremely sensibly shod in royal blue lace up shoes with the barest heel. She also wore the sort of support hose that my mother, rest her soul, preferred. Heavy denier and ultra sensible for a lady of her years. I lifted my head and she seemed to acknowledge that the curtsy position was not one that I found comfortable. "Please do get up" she said. I straightened slowly becoming acutely aware of anno domini'd effects on my skeletal system. "May I ask your name" - I gave my full name like I was that school girl again. There followed a discussion about the portrait of the Queen Mother that I had been so scathing of. I was delighted to be let into a little secret. She hated the thing too. But she had been told that the artist - she snorted with incredulity when she said "artist" - had donated the painting and that they had placed it here as it was far from the private apartments and the Queen only ever came here for investitures and, as on this occasion, other public events. She asked me why I was not knitting. I explained that my forte was general knowledge and fairy cakes. She howled with laughter and said that those were her strengths too! We quickly started to chat about the merits and otherwise of icing on cakes. We both preferred plain white to coloured and both found the new vogue of cupcake bakers of gaudy lurid colours detestable. She enquired if I had a few minutes - who was I to say otherwise? She led the way into a small side room that turned out to be a kitchen. "Let's have our own competition" she said. 'One batch of fairy cakes. Whichever the knitters prefer will gain an extra five points towards the competition". I didn't have to be asked twice and soon we were both elbow deep in flour, sugar and eggs. Watched by a somewhat bemused royal pastry chef we chatted as we measured, beat, folded and finally poured our mixtures into little paper cases.

Whilst the cakes cooked we talked knitting competitions. She was fascinated and said that she would like to start clubs in both Sandringham and Balmoral. Naturally I encouraged her, who knows we might have invites to those places too.

After about twenty minutes our cakes were done and we carefully assembled them on wire trays to cool. I am afraid that I became a little arty and actually spread icing sugar on my plate to give the effect that my cakes sat in snow. Her Majesty thought that was very funny.

At tea time, our cakes duly transferred to the serving plates we carried each other's cakes in. That way the contestants wouldn't automatically give Her Majesty's preference. Of course there was a flurry of curtseying before the umpire declared that the scores were 37 to Windsor Castle and 36 to us. We could still win if my cakes were liked best. I had no idea that our Queen was so competitive and generous with it too. She gave the impression that my cakes were hers the whole time. In the end however, a choice had to be made. If I am honest, hers were marginally better and she received the winning points. There was much polite clapping and "jolly good" etc all round.

Before she left, Her Majesty came to me and said "I have thoroughly enjoyed this afternoon, I hope that you have too". What could I say, of course I had. I smiled at her and said "Yes Your Majesty".