The return of Queen Cate

Wonderful to see Cate Blanchett back in the role of feisty Queen Elizabeth. As well as being a talented actress, she’s a fine example of what is known as an “unconventional” beauty. Essentially, that means you have to stare at her for a while before realising she is ravishing. Such women are invariably more impressive humans than instant lookers of the Catherine Zeta-Douglas variety. I have no doubt that Cate does the most fascinating things in her spare time. She is surely an accomplished tap-dancer and I imagine that she’d give me a decent game of table tennis. I bet she loves poetry too. Can anyone imagine Ms Zeta-Douglas playing ping-pong or reciting poetry? Perhaps one can, but only in an affected, posey sort of way to show off in front of the cameras.

I have always been fascinated by historical movies which show how the humans of a bygone era used to behave. Those Elizabethans certainly enjoyed dressing up! There is much to be said for a society in which men can wear tights in public without being insulted or harassed. The nobility seemed to have a lot more fun in those days: courtiers and ladies-in-waiting playing kiss-chase in the palace gardens; minstrels singing love songs while strumming on their lutes; dandies of all sexual persuasions dancing gaily in their codpieces and ruffs. Wasn’t it inspiring when Good Queen Bess told the Privy Council to stuff their French suitors because she was already wedded to England? Back then, a lady could proudly admit to being a virgin without being mocked behind her back.

Personally, I have nothing against females who play impossible to get. Sexual initiation is not a big rite-of-passage for gorillas, and those who put it off because they’d rather be picking coconuts are not treated with scorn. Dr Whipsnade recently told me about a conversation he had with his friend Lady Chuffington, who has three teenage daughters. Her Ladyship is more or less resigned to the eventuality that her girls will surrender their virtue long before their wedding night. So rather than wasting her breath on extolling the blessings of chastity, she is encouraging them to be selective about the fellow given the honour of deflowering them.

She has advised her daughters that he who is permitted to penetrate their maidenly citadel must first:

(1) regularly kiss them on the hand (a sign of gentlemanly devotion);

(2) allow them to slumber in his arms without trying to cop a feel (asleep or not, a girl always knows when she’s been touched);

(3) join them in watching a movie starring Helena Bonham Carter without attempting to fast-forward to the scene where she exposes her boobies.

It is essential, of course, that the girls do not disclose these hurdles to the first young buck who courts their affection. (I don’t know whether any of you are socially acquainted with the Chuffingtons, but I trust that you will not misuse this information.)

It would be wrong to eulogise females simply because they are virgins though. The Virgin Queen feared that hanging, drawing and quartering the Catholic traitor Babington would be too merciful a punishment. Many innocent children have been painfully cuffed by nuns, who are technically (or sometimes actually) virgins. I myself have had to endure cheeky backchat from any number of virgin gorillas. Heaven knows what their problem is. If you ask me, they need a good seeing to.
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