THE PEN

Of all the things, a bloody pen.

It was as if all the sadness, anger and frustration of the past seven days had found its way into the smallest object he had to hand and had transferred the personal seismic shift for him and the epoch making moment for the nation at large down through the nib of the pen.

What was it with these pens? The way reports from the media (both old and new) framed the story it was as if the king was having some sort of meltdown.

He wasn't.

At least not yet.

"WHY IS IT ALWAYS A BLOODY PEN?!"  

It had only been a few days before that he had found a penbox and an inkwell obstructing his signing of the royal oath, which had, according to his closest advisors, gone viral.

"Stupid thing has gone more viral than Covid. Can't take a pen lid off without seeming to put a thousand years of history for the royal family in peril."

Now, once again, the king found himself facing yet another pen-related issue, this time with a fountain pen that had now leaked on the visitors' book at Hillsborough Castle.

Wiping the leaking ink from his fingers with a wet cloth handed to him, he continued to curse the constant surveillance of every minutae of his royal life in front of the world's cameras.

"It's like that depressing film with the man with the funny face. What was it called?"

A member of his private staff tried to guess but found the king had given little clue as to which film he was referring to.

"You know the one with the man always on TV like a bug under a magnifying glass?"

More blanks were drawn as the king thumped the edge of the desk in frustration at not being able to recall the name of the thing.

"Did you mean The Truman Show?" the queen consort said casually.

"YES!'

The king smiled momentarily in relief as if he'd just scratched a gigantic itch. But his smile quickly returned to a frown when he noticed yet more cameras aimed at him as if he was in front of a firing squad.  

Whispering to his wife out of the corner of his mouth, he said.

"Perhaps it would be better if I refrained from breathing altogether? Surely I would be insulated from any criticism then wouldn't I?"

The queen consort didn't appear to think that was a good idea at all.

"We've already lost one monarch. I'm not sure I or the nation couldn't handle losing another in the space of a week."

"No. You're right. One must abide by tradition and be scrutinised by the world even if it is at the expense of one's sanity."

Rubbing the king's back gently with her hand, the queen consort knew her husband was just letting off some steam after a gruelling schedule of public appointments since the death of his mother Elizabeth II.

"Perhaps we should watch that film tonight."

Forgetting what they'd just been talking about, it was now the queen consort's turn to draw a blank.

"Which film?"

"THE BLOODY TRUMAN SHOW!"

Shushing her husband like he was a colicky baby, the queen consort was reminded that she was not just a wife to the king now.

She was also a mother.