I started to write this novel years ago. It's about a small town Lancashire girl who is elected Queen of Europe, Sort of tragi-comic.
The Queen of Europe adjusted her spectacles, placed her elbows on the desk and holding her fingers in her ears, tried to concentrate on the war ministers report. The Basques had started a new offensive, the Flemish too. Sicilians had blown up a busload of greek tourists. Two roads Germany were impassable due to potholes made by a group claiming singular recognition for Visigoths, and the celts were threatening violence to any shipping disturbing fishing rights around the British coastline.
Normal imperfection reigned in the State of Europe.
For fifteen minutes the queen scanned the report, pursing her lips at the latest Basque atrocity, smiling at the outragious demands of the Visigoths. All so normal it was downright tedious. Flipping the paper into the 'out' tray she reached for the bottle of italian red on the furthest corner of the desk.
When Dennison came to tell her the Cheif of treasury had arrived, the queen lay across the desk, spectacles askew, happily snoring over the Daily Economic report. Gently, he gripped her shoulder, shaking it as he spoke close to her beautiful pink ear.
"Ma'am. Wake up. Oh please wake up. You can't see the treasurer like this.Ma'am. Ma'am. Wake up."
The queen spluttered but resumed snoring. Dennison realised he was o a loser.For the third time this week the queen had become 'indisposed' He went to make apologies to the Chief of Treasury'.
The Queen of Europe adjusted her spectacles, placed her elbows on the desk and holding her fingers in her ears, tried to concentrate on the war ministers report. The Basques had started a new offensive, the Flemish too. Sicilians had blown up a busload of greek tourists. Two roads Germany were impassable due to potholes made by a group claiming singular recognition for Visigoths, and the celts were threatening violence to any shipping disturbing fishing rights around the British coastline.
Normal imperfection reigned in the State of Europe.
For fifteen minutes the queen scanned the report, pursing her lips at the latest Basque atrocity, smiling at the outragious demands of the Visigoths. All so normal it was downright tedious. Flipping the paper into the 'out' tray she reached for the bottle of italian red on the furthest corner of the desk.
When Dennison came to tell her the Cheif of treasury had arrived, the queen lay across the desk, spectacles askew, happily snoring over the Daily Economic report. Gently, he gripped her shoulder, shaking it as he spoke close to her beautiful pink ear.
"Ma'am. Wake up. Oh please wake up. You can't see the treasurer like this.Ma'am. Ma'am. Wake up."
The queen spluttered but resumed snoring. Dennison realised he was o a loser.For the third time this week the queen had become 'indisposed' He went to make apologies to the Chief of Treasury'.