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I hate to be a wet blanket, but Jubilee dampened my spirits.

Byline: MIKE LOCKLEY

CALL me a Killjoy, but I wasn't too upset that last Sunday's village Jubilee shindig was curtailed by steady rain.

In my own family's case, it was severely curtailed: I stepped outside, scowled "It's p*****g it down," then went back indoors.

Our weekly newspaper carried a picture of 12 miserable, sodden parishioners holding wet flags outside the marquee.

"Rain failed to dampen the spirits of..." the caption lied.

It certainly 'dampened the spirit' of the rag's photographer who cursed loudly while lining up the perished partygoers.

"No, no, no," he ranted. "Taller ones at the back. It's not bloody rocket science."

His paper's Jubilee pullout had 22 party pictures, the vast majority featuring pensioners managing one last, forced smile before keeling over from hypothermia.

According to the publication, rain failed to dampen spirits at six of them, including one where emergency services were called after the marquee collapsed. That must have been a novel experience for firemen: Jubilant OAPs in high spirits while trapped under tarpaulin. I would've left the old dears to it.

"It's such a shame," fussed one villager as he trudged back home. "All that hard work ruined by the weather."

No, it's not. It's payback for a group of committed residents who decided to celebrate the achievement of a family I have nothing in common with, will never meet and, in all honesty, wouldn't like living next door. Not with those corgis.

What's more, these committed residents organised the event under the guise of 'putting something back into the community'.

If they really want to put something back into the community they should go out and collect the dog excrement littering our lanes. I'd drink to that.

There is but one story, possibly apocryphal, that made me warm to our Royal Family, made me feel there was a bond betwixt the Queen and I. Allegedly, she and Prince Philip were dining in a top brasserie. "Two rare steaks," she commanded.

"Does Madam mean two bloody steaks?" queried the waiter. "Yes, yes," nodded Her Majesty, "two bloody steaks."

"Quite right," butted in Philip, "and plenty of soddin' chips."
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Publication:Sunday Mercury (Birmingham, England)
Date:Jun 10, 2012
Words:355
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