That’s right. There is a direct line of divinity extending from the Queen (‘cause she’s royalty, she’s gotta be first), then to Father Christmas and then finally to yours truly.
Am I royalty? I’d like to think I am, but no. I am an extraordinary soul in an ordinary body living in a crazy-ass world. It happened this past Sunday. I knew I would see the Queen, if not from afar, but I would have a cheery hello and a jaunty wave.
I was at the horse races for the afternoon – the Queen’s Plate – and the track was full of suits, dresses and plumage. Hats. I wore one, the Queen wore one. Even the bathroom attendant wore one, although more utilitarian than fashion plate.
My friend The Girl and I were on our way home, hats flapping in the wind racing into the car through the sunroof. We were taking a detour to Acton to feed and water a friend’s cat when I was distracted by a chin of white. I looked, looked again and then looked a third time. It was Santa and he was riding a 10-speed. He was also wearing shorts and high top sneakers but it was the chin of white and the hat, a helmet, that attracted my second and third looks.
I think it was payback from the powers that be since all of my horses either came in second or last. That's right, I went in with $30 and left with $2 in change. Since I was betting $2 at a time, even if I had won, it would not have amounted to much.
But now that I've seen the Queen AND Santa in one day, I think my luck is a-changin' so I'm heading out to the casino. Either that or a craps game somewhere. I'll wear my lucky hat.