by Andrew Vasey Albert received a posh invite; It said, "Come at ten - don't be late. We've saved you a seat in the Abbey." And they'd signed it, "From William and Kate." By way of a brief explanation, A note was for Albert to take: "We need a few working class people For political correctness's sake." Now, Albert, he wasn't a Royalist, And he wasn't a PC chap, too, But he thought that he'd go to the wedding, As he'd nothing much better to do. So he put on his best bib and tucker, Polished his boots proper nice, Took his stick with the 'orse's 'ead 'andle, And twirled it around once or twice. In the Abbey the people were waiting For the bride to arrive in some style. They were craning their necks round to see how she looked, While she made her smooth way down the aisle. Now at this time came a kerfuffle, For Kate had arrived at the door. You could tell that there'd been a misfortune, As she painfully limped 'cross the floor. For it seemed that a nasty occurrence Had blighted this right royal marriage - She'd tripped on the train of her dress, And fallen right out of her carriage. It was almost as if the occasion Was fated a failure to be, As the bride had suffered a relapse Of her old public school hockey knee. But Albert soon came to the rescue - His brain was remarkably quick - He strode to the back of the Abbey, And offered the lady his stick. So the wedding continued serenely, And all went ahead just as planned, With young Kate looking radiant and lovely, A walking stick held in her hand. After the service was over Kate and Will soon sought Albert out. For his help they both thanked him profusely, But Albert just said, "It were nowt." "Just one thing," the bride said politely, "This carving upon the stick handle - It has a peculiar feeling, Just as though I was holding a candle." "That isn't surprising," said Albert, "To clean it for years I've been tryin': I know what's the stuff you've been feeling - It's some wax from the ear of a lion!"
The end