The Queen’s handbag

“Hello.  My name is Betty.  You don’t know me for I am no-one of import.  I live the simple life of a commoner. Until now my life has been one of blundering about, eating egg and chips with the occasional bit of fish, like we commoners are want to do, whilst waiting  with bated breath for a little more news from the palace. 

But now, thanks to the marvel of this new technology, the internet, I fancy myself something of a royal messenger.  And here you have the message.  (gesture to covered object topped with crown).  Can you guess what it is?  No? Would it help if I did this? (unveil the bag with suitable flourish) 

Yes, it is a handbag.  But not just any old handbag; it is a VIRTUAL handbag.  And not just any old virtual handbag.  Can you guess whose?  Yes, that’s right, it’s the QUEEN’S virtual handbag.  An “exact likeness”, according to the packaging here . 

Now, I hardly need tell you why the Queen’s Handbag is not only of interest to most discerning folk, but also something of a national treasure.  For I am sure that you’re as curious as I (raise and lower right index finger) about what’s in it…important things I imagine…curious things too. 

For what do we really know about her royal majesty, THE WOMAN?   Other than the unfortunate fact that she heads quite a dysfunctional family?  Which, don’t get me wrong, is nice in a way, for it gives her that common touch.  But, is to know the family scandal to know the woman?   Wouldn’t that be too simple?  As though to say the queen is simply the head on the loonie?   Or the bit in the middle that drops out of the toonie.  Which I don’t think I am…she is…am I…I mean…is she?  No, certainly not.!

By revealing the contents of the bag, I can, at long last, ladies and gentleman, give you (gesture)……….. THE WOMAN! 

For your information the bag can be downloaded, zipped and unzipped, if you have a good hard drive and are so driven, as am I.   



For maximum effect the bag MUST be opened before an audience of not less than (count heads)…people. There is a poem in the envelope attached to the bag that is to be read whilst a little boy of 9-11, in his latent stage, carefully removes the contents, on cue.


Once the contents are being removed you must not stop or else oooooooooooohh. This virtual handbag and its contents are non-refundableKEEP  WITHIN REACH OF CHILDREN.


(you ask) :  Is there a little boy of 9 –11, latent, in the audience?
(you ask):  Your name?                                                                                                           
                                     Volunteer: …………………………….
(you say):  That’s nice.   But I’m going to call you Ollie.   Ladies and   
                   gentlemen (gesture) I give you Ollie.
(you ask):  Are you a royalist?
                                     Volunteer:  What’s that?
(you say): Well done! 
(you ask):…are you latent?
                                     Volunteer:  Yes!
(you say):  Well done!  Come up here.
(you test):  Do you like touching squishy things and slimy things for no  
                   apparent reason?
                                    Volunteer:  Yeh, howdidyaknow?
(you say):  No reason.
(you say):  Ollie, kneel down.  Now roll up your sleeves and prepare  
(you say):  Ollie?              
                                   Volunteer: yeh?
(you say): There could be jelly in the bag… or frog spawn. 
                                    Volunteer: yeh.




(you read)

In the queen’s handbag there is:

NOT a little handkerchief bearing the royal seal, a packet of gum drops, OR library card…
(…Ollie?  don’t worry if some of this goes over your head dear…)

NO, there are NOT:

Biscuits, worm pills and butchers bone (oh I’d so hoped…)

Platinum poop scoop and canine phone

No, they- are- not- there.

IN the queen’s handbag the following are conspicuously absent:

A big old tobacco pouch, sour balls in a tin….
A plastinated love letter from Ras-pu-tin) (that would have been of a private nature I imagine)

Glycerine capsules for ready tears
Doddering pills for sympathy cheers…(.dear queeny)

A bicycle pump for the frequent occasion
that air escapes from Phillip
requiring RE-inflation  (ooh that might have explained  it)

A compact mirror featuring Phillip’s royal bum
A French/English dictionary no bigger than a crumb (I’ve got one of those)

Poisons and pillboxes of bewildering array
Viles and syringes and works… just for play

(…wait for it Ollie…wait for it…)

Bank rolls of plastic from off shore accounts…
Hitler’s moustache and…  
Hitler’s pants…

Beards, teeth and noses
for easy disguise
bomb making equipment
and a book of very goodlies
(she doesn’t look the type…)

A plan for world domination dated 1952
(the year of the coronation!…)
A book of potions to help her get there too

A punishing manual for edifying
Thumb screws and spikes for terrifying
(…not a very nice thought that…)

Waxen images of Camilla and Charles
Cock’s blood, pins, hair, skin and nails…
(no no no no…imagine!))

…The bag might have been a decoy
for that wooden arm  
that eerily creaks
when the weather gets warm?

But NO! it is not.

Though the handbag might
be wearing the dowager
as the heart, soul and spleen
of her majesty’s power…(I wouldn’t be without mine either).

It is not a galaxy or gateway
to other dimensions
nor a time machine
nor worm hole in suspension…
(…you’d have lost me there…)

Let’s be realistic shall we
the bag has a certain elasticity
the ROD, that’s not there, OLLIE
Would have proven it’s nuclear capacity (fancy that!)
…and the plug
would have fit in
…to her nostrils…

Know now that there is
no transformer …
with action flip!
nor telephone number
of the mother ship..
(I would have respected her privacy…)

IF someone dared say the bag was EMPTY?
You might have replied
it’s a vacuum stupid
for splitting nucleii…(like…a hoover)

But it’s not.

In the queen’s handbag there is not and never will be:

A little placenta, a pure protein dose
next to an enema bag… and an enema hose

While it would be beneath the queen
to wipe stool from stern
and rather a job for a subaltern,
it’s easy to see how an anal attendant
might sell the story that sticks
thereby leaving her majesty
up to her delicate neck in it…
SO…reasonably speaking… a colostomy bag
there would also have to be!
…..My poor 9 – 11 year old

But, the truth is,
her highness’s handbag
has none of these things
because let’s face it,
there’s not enough space
But if 3 ladies-in-waiting
and 2 footmen sit down
it just about fits in her case
…Her suitcase
….the big blue one…
with the royal seal…
the virtual likeness
of which
can be fully downloaded…

(…is there anything in the blessed handbag then?)

In the queen’s handbag there’s really only room for the following:

(oh dear…)

A team of existentialists
to teach the human condition
of subject/ object an-on-y-mi-ty  
and social exclusion

The complete A-Z
of how to pat-ron-ize
subjects, her objects
living everywhere she goes.

…A sack of amnesiacs
who say it’s nice to be nice
that the queen is a mumsy
made of sugar and spice
(now that’s…nice…)

A herd of his-to-rians
who stuff us with dates.
Sod the details of colonialism,
racism, orientalism,
nationalism, industrialism,
corporatism, fetishism,
consumerism, expansionism,
hypnotism, nihilism,
call it capitalism

Oh, if only the monarch were simply a butterfly…

….Are you still having fun? (….no)
For I have to tell you
the bag is nearly done

Since the aim was to deconstruct
to avoid cliché
the bag shall
…In 10 seconds no
make that 9

(You can take your hand out now…Ollie? …is it?  Ollie dear.)

(Though fun at first it’s become quite confusing
We preferred it I think when it was more amusing.)

(What’s this Ollie?  A…a knitting needle, is it!?  And…and…a message!?)

O!! Ohhhhh
  You have removed the SAFETY PIN
10 seconds
make that

For your own protection…put the bag in the BIGTIN-


Volunteer:  big tin?
(you say):  tin.
(together):  tin.

(together grab the black blanket, cover bag, clasp ears) 

TERRIBLE EXPLOSION!  Or tiny phut sound) 

(you disappear)