Well, they reckon she's had the fucker, although by the looks of her on the telly last night she's still cooking up another one in there. "He's got a right pair of lungs on him," said Prince William. He obviously doesn't take after his Mother then. Went for a walk with me Dad this morning and we went past a squashed up carton of Ribena on the pavement, so I was straight over, as you do, but despite sucking as hard as I could all I could get out of it were a few little dribbles. Which is probably exactly what the baby's gonna feel like I reckon. And now that she's had it all the papers will go on about for ages is what's it gonna be called, our future King? I fancy Prawn Madras meself, but I don't suppose they'll go for it. There'll be a George in there I reckon, and probably a Phil too in honour of his Grandad - although they may miss out the "the Greek" bit. Who gives a shit? Well me actually, a polished pooh on a plinth is now winging it's way to Buck House. Glider building going well, thanks for asking.
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