When we lived in Belgium, I used to occasionally buy and read “Royals” magazine. The clue is in the title; it goes large on the Belgian royal family but all of the European royals feature from time to time (the Grimaldis are my absolute favourites; what a family) and sometimes more exotic royals from Asia or the Middle East. I used to read it in a post-modern, ironic way and, because it’s in French, it’s clearly not the same as reading, say, “Hello” magazine which I am obviously too lofty to read.
Mr. Waffle goes to Brussels for work from time to time and on his return he often picks me up a (post-modern, ironic) copy of “Royals” magazine. Inspired by his success he got me a subscription to 12 months of “Royals” magazine last Christmas. I have to tell you I was not delighted, I felt I’d tipped over from post-modern, ironic to weird middle-aged Belgian royalist lady. Anyway 12 months later, my subscription has finally expired. If you need to know anything about the Belgian royal family, ask me now. While I have to say that I enjoyed it more than I expected to, I am glad to have reverted to being an occasional consumer of Belgian royal family news rather than the Irish expert on Prince Laurent’s latest quirk.
Brushing aside events in the Congo the Belgian royal family are a bit racier than tha of the British, or perhaps it would be true to say more is known of their extra curricular activities. Everyone should have a specialist subject to produce in emergencies and now we know yours. Mine is Victorian and Edwardian boys fiction, anyone for GA Henry or Percy Westerman?
We now your mastermind specialist subject.
I have various occasional guilty reads, which are slipping out of ‘ironic’ territory the more I indulge them and the older I get (and so the closer I am to their target demographic). Probably the worst is The Lady, which I occasionally pick up if I’m in the UK – I’m slowly socialising myself by reading the etiquette column, and I enjoy the thrill of occasionally completing its (particularly easy) cryptic crossword. It’s very embarrassing to be caught reading it on a train. I also like Lancashire Life, especially the social columns where I watch my fellow Northerners pretending they’re in the Cotswolds – showing off their latest kitchen extension or attending a charity do (both with Prosecco and hair extensions a-go-go).
They always say the French lap up the royalty mags, despite (because of?) having no royalty of their own.