Confessions of a Royal Wedding Limo Driver
by
Nicholas Galt
* * * * *
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Nicholas Galt
http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/NicholasGalt
Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.
History?
I was picked out of a massive fuckin line up of other drivers. I mean ten other blokes. And driving a limo is not that easy. Not as easy as you might, fuckin, think.
Can you imagine driving any car at 9mph for any length of time. Any normal geezer would go stir crazy, slam the gas and be out of a job. But not me, not a bit. Twenty years I have been driving posh people really slow. Christ, twenty fucking years. If I quickly do the math...9mph I have probably driven a hundred clicks. But it has taken all those years!
My first job was the Duchess of York, Fergie. Christ she was fun, fat, red headed, but fun to drive. She was going to a gig out at Windsor,
‘A bbq for snobs,’ she said. A place where the sausages cost 30 pound each but taste the same. I should know. They feed the drivers y’know. Us limo guys sit around the back, smoking cigarettes, eating leftovers and gawk at the ladies boobs. Royal boobs give you extra points. The Queen’s boobs? Well this old timer told us that she had a fair rack many years ago. But I was too young then. And on this day the Queen did give us a cheerio. Blake, the old timer says once the old lady had passed,
‘Old blue boobs, I still have a thing for em.’ We did give him a few points. No longer with us, God bless his limo soul.
Now, back to Kate and the fact that I drove her, on the most important day of her life. Fuck, maybe even mine.
So it was me and some 12 other blokes who were up for the job, potentially that is. And they had a series of tests for us to do. Of which I will promptly run you through.
1. Opening the Door
The limos were lined up like they were to receive Kate on her special day. We stood by the door and waited our turn to be graded on opening the door in the most appropriate manner. A few of the lads who didn’t make the cut got involved too. That is, they put on a frock and pretended to be Kate. Cocks in frocks they are now known, for better or worse.
So, Frank, my cock in a frock walked up to the limo. And I, as duty calls, stood calmly, greeted her,
‘Hey Kate, you look lovely. Nice fuckin beard,’ then I levered the door with a smoothness I had never done. And closed it with a whisper. Fuckin nailed it.
One driver told me afterwards he opened the door into the shin of his poor cock in a frock. Terry gave him a little chin music later over a few ales.
2. The Take Off
Again us 14 finalist were to be tested on another important part of limousing. The all and important, moving from a fuckin stop. Now you need to get this on the knocker. Even though all the cars today are automatic. Never used to be. When I first started, some of the bleeding cars still had knobs. And I remember one time like it was yesterday, that is the balls up I created due to a bad take off.
Prince Charles, my first big ears gig! He had some white suit on, what guy wears that colour, really? Pimps, brides and old men who like rolling balls on grass. Anyways, he had just had a great night out and I was getting him from a party. He was half loaded full of French brandy and decided he would steal a few drinks from this party. He lumbered into the back with some hag called Camilla (now his leather handbag) carrying an open bottle of red wine and a duo of glasses.
‘Driver, would you please take us the long way home please. We are going to get munted on this fine drop?’
‘Yes Sir.’ I heard the glasses clinking and filling with booze. It is customary to let drinks be filled before taking off. I put it in first and nervously let the clutch out. The car fuckin lurched and hopped like one of our Aussie convict friends kangaroo pets. Wine spilled everywhere.
‘Oh bugger! Mummy won’t be happy, she gave this suit to me for my birthday.’
Lets just say it was a silent ride home. I went home and got munted instead.
But on my day of testing I glided the limo up to 9mph like a fuckin genius. Even Frank from the back seat commented on my smoothness,
‘If I wasn’t marrying a prince, I think I would like you to knob me!’
‘Thank-you Miss Middleton, but first you would have to remove the beard,’ I responded politely.
3. Idle Chit Chat
Now as a limo driver, the rule is generally to drive and not be heard. And a lot of the time this does happen. But sometimes those who you are driving will ask you how you are going, y’know? Be polite and all. Like when you get in a taxi and ask when the driver’s shift is finishing. You don’t give a crap, you just want him to get you home for cheap, and before you puke in his cab.
But, just in case, you need to be able to speak a few fuckin words. And all of us 22 candidates were tested. I spoke with fuckin aplomb. Some didn’t of course. As you can imagine. More on number three to follow.
So anyways I got the job as you all well know. And the lads all congratulated me and shouted me a pint and I waited for the big day.
The 29th of April 2011 happened upon us. I shined the little car up a treat; you could see God’s face reflected in it. Stopped in at a Tesco and got a smelly tree, Royal Citrus, of course. Then I waited for hours for my cue at the Goring Hotel. Ritzy place.
I opened the door like it was made of feathers. Smooth as a fuckin iced pond. And the father of the bride climbed in. Nice fellow. And of course Miss Middleton got in as well. She sure did look nice. I just smiled at her and gently caressed the door closed behind her. That was number one out of the way. That’s a cinch. Open close, open close.
The security got in to place. Me I got into the cockpit. Feeling calm. Feeling good. Nervous excitement filled the cabin. Next number two, the take off.
Luckily Kate didn’t have a bottle of fuckin vino. Though she was wearing white, and me and the boys talked about that. We reckon that Prince William had tested the royal blue inkwell already. Just our thoughts, we drivers are privy to some things.
So we glided up to 9mph with out a hitch. My trusty bullet proof carriage with the tightly shut windows, I knew it wouldn’t let me down. And the people, never seen so many.
Number three was what I worried about the most. Driving is what I do, I do it well. Talkin, well I aint a fuckin politician or a teacher or anything. That’s not what I am employed to do. But I can handle myself, hey, I was the chosen one. But of course there are scenarios you cannot prepare for.
Now the limo was silent for only a moment, just one. All you could hear was the din of the cheering crowd though the thick protective glass. It was an awkward silence and I fought the urge to ask the future princess if she was nervous. But I remained professional. Then there was a noise from the back seat, it started out as a small tweet, but slowly it built up in both volume and depth of note. Higher and higher the sound rose to a crescendo of proud portions. I hazarded a glance into the rear-vision mirror and I could see the future princess had turned a shade of red. And her father looked out the window as though nothing had happened. Only occasionally flexing his nostrils to cleanse them of the acrid stench that was suffocating this royal car. I reached for the down button on the windows, but the security woman that escorted us put her hand over mine and politely nodded no. Something to do with death threats. Something had to be done; someone had to soften this very, aromatically awkward moment,
‘I hope you enjoyed that one, cos soon you will miss them. Because we all know princesses don’t fart.’ I politely stated.