Your Excellency, President of the Old Royalists Association, ladies and gentlemen:
As I am not much of an after-dinner speaker, when the President asked me, I offered to do the washing up instead. The President assured me that this was not one of my tasks; he had already enlisted my husband for that; he is not much of a washer-upper either. I asked your President how long I should speak for. “About five minutes would be adequate” he said. I said “with this mixed audience, it’s a little difficult to know where to begin”. He said, “begin on the fourth minute.”We are privileged to be here, in these grand surroundings, being wined and dined in style. But not as lucky as the man who won the lottery recently; he heard about the advances in modern transplant surgery, and decided he would benefit from a new brain. He went to see a specialist – finally saw him after the outpatient appointment had been cancelled seven times. The specialist said there were several brains in stock. Old-Josephian’s brain was £5000; old-Trinitians brain was £10,000; or you could have an old-Thomian brain for £20,000. “Doctor, I want the best” said the lottery winner. “You’re in luck” said the brain surgeon “We happen to have just one old-Royalist’s brain – a very special offer at £50,000.” The lottery winner was amazed. “Why is the old Royalist’s brain so expensive?” “Simple” said the specialist “it was hardly ever used.”
I understand that the old school provided the boys with facilities for all sport, but not golf. Although I don’t play golf, I happen to live near a golf Club. One morning, there was a tramp asleep on the doorway to the Clubhouse. He was smelling strongly of drink, his hair was matted, his eyes bloodshot. There were some empty bottles as testimony to his night’s work. A tired dog lay asleep at his feet. The Club Secretary arrived. And fearful of arriving golfers, nudged the tramp awake. “Disgraceful” he thundered through a clenched moustache, “what the hell do you think you’re doing here? This is private property, an exclusive Club with televised tournaments. I demand you leave at once.” The tramp rose, collected his clothing, moved slowly away from the Club Secretary; then turned and froze him with a glare, and said, “This is no way to attract new members.” My husband has now been accepted to be on the waiting list for membership.Tonight’s dinner has been very well organised; everything seemed to work like clockwork; the room and the tables look stunningly beautiful; the music as always is exhilarating; all of us are itching to get on the dance floor. We also wish to compliment the chef and the team for providing us with a wonderful meal. It is quite unlike another London Hotel, where a visitor was ordering his breakfast. He said he wanted two boiled eggs; one so hard it was like a bullet, the other scarcely cooked at all. He wanted three pieces of toast, each absolutely black on one side and not toasted at all on the other. And also some cold coffee. “Oh sir, we can’t possibly do that” said the astonished waiter. “Why not” said the visitor, “you did it yesterday.”My husband, an old Royalist, remembers of his schooldays, only that the school was next to the Racecourse. This has made a lasting impression on his life. The hospital where he works in Ascot is also next to a Racecourse. The bookies know him by name. As one of their best customers, he regularly receives expensive gifts from William Hill, Ladbrokes and Corals, in return for his continued and unwavering support. I got some insight into how he picks his losers. Last year, he lost £100 just on the Derby; he lost £25 on the race; then lost the other £75 on the action replay.The Royalists have been tremendous hosts. Like the American Indians outnumbering General Custer’s troops, we the guests have outnumbered our hosts. That is because the guests have always enjoyed the hospitality of the Old Royalists, and keep coming back to this most enjoyable function. As I conclude, I am reminded of the rather complacent businessman who, having delivered an after-dinner speech, turned to his neighbour (who happened to be Oscar Wilde) and said “Now tell me; how would you have given that speech?” Oscar replied “I think perhaps under an assumed name.”And like Lord Atkin, who was the fifth speaker after dinner, I have to admit that I have two speeches. A long one and a short one. I propose to give you both. The short one is “Thank you.” The long one is “Thank you very much.”
Guests: the toast is . . . . our hosts, the Old Royalists
