Wednesday, December 22, 2004

My Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale rewrite


A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away there was a real prince and he wanted a real princess and not just the kind of Chav that could be seen all over, a bona fide real princess.

In his quest/search, the prince (who also happened to be a shit hot DJ) travelled all around the clubs of Essex, as far as Dagenham and Romford. He rode around on his trusty Audi TT but every night at 2AM he would come away feeling empty and lost. These princesses were not for him, some were too brash, others too timid and the majority were just plain minging with their bodies stained and marked with green from where their cheap bling was letting them down.

One evening there was a terrible storm, it thundered and lightened, lightened and thundered as the rain poured down in torrents. Inside the club where the prince was DJing at Club Fearful Night (and banging with it), there was a knock on his DJ booth door and DJ Prince went over to answer the track request.

However, the request was not for Earl Zinger or Dizzee Rascal, instead it was a drenched young lady, in a state looking for a home to store her handbag and jacket while she went to look for her (potentially now absent) friends. The water streamed out of hair and her Burberry clothes, it ran in at the top of her Jimmy Choo shoes and out at the six inch heel but she insisted that she was a real princess (by way of a flirty introduction/chat to get her own way and for the prince to take of her classy belongings).

At the end of the DJ Prince set (and the end of the Club Fearful for him) he found his princess unable to find her friends and he returned her belongings and asked/enquired sweet and innocently, as only a regal DJ could, “what are you going to do for getting home?”. The princess replied “unfortunately I am an out of town member of state from Cambridge” and the prince offered to take the princess home for the night because it would be safe as he lives with his rich parents because “DJing doesn’t pay the bills”.

Upon returning home in the early hours, the couple once more drenched, the DJ prince was met at the door by his mother. The prince introduced the princess to the queen, telling her that this was a real princess. The queen was less than convinced though, thinking but not saying “well, we shall soon see if that is true”.

The queen went into the spare room and prepared the room for their “regal” visitor, making a couple of adjustments which she hoped might reveal the “real princess” for the fraud she suspected she be.

The real princess entered the prepared bedroom, taking off her soaking clothes that clung to her hardbody but when she looked around on the bedside cabinet for a jewellery box for her bling, there was nothing there! So instead the princess settled down to sleep, still wearing her clanging jewellery.

In the morning they asked her how she had slept: “oh, terribly badly” said the princess “I have hardly closed my eyes the whole night. Heaven knows how I am supposed to sleep still wearing my 18 carat chains, diamond earrings and genuine sovereign rings, in addition to my ankle bracelet. I seemed to be lying on my jewellery all night and my whole body is black and blue this morning. It is terrible!”.

They saw at once that she must be a real princess when she revealed her jewellery and where they had left no green marks across her body and the pieces were still gleaming. Just like the princess, her bling had to be real. Nobody but a real princess could have such delicate taste in jewels.

So the DJ prince took her as his wife, to have his records and dance in cages for him, for now he was sure that he had found a real princess and her bling was put into the museum where no Chavs could steal it.

Now this is a true Essex story.


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