Once when I was on leave from base, the lads and I decided to show up for a meet-n-greet by Charles, Prince of Wales. (This was, oh, it must have been '71? '72? Somewhere around then.) The Prince was running late, so we decided to pass the time in the local pub, and when he finally showed, we were, shall we say, knackered. At first we didn't think they would let us in the queue seeing as how we were clearly inebriated, but apparently the English can't tell the difference between a drunk Scot and a sober one and waved us on through.
We pull ourselves together and line up (in full kit, you understand) to get our handshake and obligatory, "Thanks for your service" platitude. I was having none of it. My intention was to give the Prince a "piece of my mind." (Despite my mates insisting I had no pieces I could spare.) I do not remember what it was I was annoyed at the Prince for, so don't ask.
My turn comes along and the Prince reaches out and grasps my hand, smiling vacantly and looking at me without seeing me. This irritates me even more, so I decide to get his, as I later phrased it, "fookin' attention."
So I kiss him. Full on the mouth.
Security jumps in, pulls me back, and I get turned over to my Sgt Maj, who was present. It was an hour's drive back to base and the Sgt Maj did not stop laughing the entire time. I wound up with twelve weeks extra duty and, I'm not kidding, had to write a letter of apology to the Prince.
Two weeks later I get an envelope from him. It contains a form letter and a "signed" photo inscribed, "Best Wishes, Charles, Prince of Wales."
I still have the picture.
***
"Which do you most can't the least?" I'm afraid I'm not following you there.
***
Yes. Yes it was. Because you reminded me of a story that made me smile, and smiles are in short supply on my face recently.
***
Neither. Get a cat.
***
I'm sorry, IB. Perhaps you could tell me what that is? I am old, after all.
