Firstly, how odd does it sound to call someone ‘Sir Prince.’
It’s a bit of an archaic, monarchist title overload, almost tautological in a
sense. That is, unless you’re Prince the pop-star, who, let’s face it, is in
serious need of some Knighting. Only then would 'Sir Prince' make what I consider
to be acceptable sense; or, The Knight Formerly Known As Sir.
Secondly, I
really enjoy that this was a so-called ‘captain’s pick.’ Abbott decided to anoint a foreign
royal as a knight of Australia not through careful deliberation with the rest
of the Liberal party, but because he, as self-appointed Captain (presumably of
Australia), decided he would. I can only wonder if he insists on acquaintances
and underlings referring to him as Skipper, or Cap’n, or just plain old Captain
Tone.
Thirdly,
why the hell didn’t he choose me? I thought my argument for knighthood was compelling,[1]
particularly next to that inbred, narrow-faced racist, Phillip, who, lest we
forget, asked an Indigenous Australian if they still throw spears at each
other. Well, yes, of course they do Phil. Just like you royals insist on
sending each other to the guillotine, occasionally engage in a casual full
steel armoured joust, and lick mercury to cure yourselves of scurvy.
Even then,
I thought Cap'n Abbott’s intention was to knight preeminent Australians. Phil is
about as Australian as a polar bear yachting down the Amazon telling tall tales
of Paul Bunyan to the enchanting tune provided by a choir of Mongolian throat
singers.
In the
spirit of my frustration that The Skipper elected to knight the closest thing I have
seen to an actual walking and talking cadaver—a walking and talking cadaver
whose wife is the figurative head of my nation no less—I have decided to come
up with a list of household items surely more deserving of a knighthood than
dear old Sir Prince Phil.
- Some brooms
- Vegetable crispers
- A rusty fire poker
- Cutesy, occasionally innuendo-laden
signs some people hang in their toilets
- 6m extension leads
- An out-of-date tub of kiwi
fruit yoghurt
- Your family portrait
hanging slightly off-centre in the entrance hall
- Full rolls of aluminium foil
- A cutting board laced with salmonella
- That almost racist picture
book from the 20s given to you by your grandmother
- $2 razors
- The VHS collection you
still haven’t thrown out that dwells in your cupboard
- All of the breastsummers[2]
- That awful picture of a
gorilla given to you by your three-year-old child/niece/nephew/sister/brother/student
- The exposed wires in your living room lamp
- A Bertie’s showbag from 1994 which used to store twine for knitting, but is now forgotten and weirdly mouldy, left under the house
- Robot vacuum cleaners
- An out-of-tune piano
- Gramophones
- All the racing car beds
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