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Driving Lessons Chapter 62 - Perfect Day
King Henry VI and King Charles I had a lot to talk about. Despite England's attempts they were arguing as only ghosts can - King Charles telling King Henry that he was lucky that he'd never had his head chopped off or something (his head was under his arm). England inched away and followed Mr Panda down the aisle.
"You can't walk the bride down the aisle," he hissed, pulling the small bear to one side.
"Don't you oppress me!" Panda hissed back, blowing smoke in his face and dropping ash on England's shoes. "And why do you smell like something's died?"
"Shut up! It's the Queen!" Someone hissed as the National Anthem played.
"I bloody know!." England hissed back and pulled the Panda out of the way.
England found himself hiding behind a huge bunch of flowers with Panda who was growling at him.
"I'll walk the bloody bride down the bloody aisle," England told Panda.
"No! You can't! I'm doing this for all panda-kind. To show that we deserve rights. Human rights!" Panda said.
"You're not bloody human!" England almost shouted.
"Ahem!" Prince Charles coughed next to them to get their attention.
"You need to see a doctor about that cough, mate," Panda said, blowing smoke.
England snatched the cigar from the bear. "That's the Prince of Wales!" He hissed.
"Don't care what he's the prince of. He should still see a doctor."
"I'm walking the bride down the aisle," Prince Charles told them defiantly ignoring Panda's glares.
Panda glared at him and then turned to England as if the heir to the throne of the United Kingdom was not sensible enough to speak with, "What's with him? He doesn't look capable." The Panda said, cocking a thumb at the Prince.
Then there was a flurry of trumpets to announce the arrival of the bride.
England managed to drag Panda back behind some pews just as the bride entered the chapel. But the slippery bear slipped his grasp.
A small bridesmaid who England thought should be at school, stuck her tongue out at him and he stuck his tongue back out at her. Unfortunately, at that moment the Queen happened to look at him and England had to pretend he was examining his own tongue.
The bride looked at him quizzically before taking the arm of Mr Panda who had shoved Prince Charles out of the way. How on earth could the bride have possibly mistaken the four foot tall bear for the Prince of Wales?
England decided then and there that extreme measures should be taken, he thus rugby-tackled the 4 foot tall Panda.
He was surprised to find actually that Panda was quite a tough cookie and put up quite a fight. They rolled behind the pews and England found himself pinned down on top of King George III's grave. Seeing as that particular dead king had visited England not so long ago and England had misplaced him (England hoped the mad king wasn't in the chapel anywhere bellowing about being a tree or something) England thought that the king probably wouldn't mind. "Get off me you bloody… bear…you," England said, trying not to draw attention to himself.
There was enough attention on them. "What yer doin' dude?" Alfred asked him, ambling up, "Scuse me, miss," he said as he passed the confused-looking bride, who was about to walk up the aisle with the Prince of Wales.
England growled at him and he and Panda rolled almost up to the altar where the groom and his best man awaited the bride.
"I say old chap, can I have my pyjamas back?" Prince William whispered to England, looking down at him.
England, still stuck under the panda's not inconsiderable weight (what on earth did that bloody bear eat all day?), nodded back towards the back of the church, "There," he gasped as he tried to throw Panda off him.
Prince William sent a lackey to get the said gift-wrapped pyjamas and handed them to the groom, who unwrapped them and with a look of disgust and wrinkling his nose (which England thought was most inconsiderate seeing as he'd only worn them one night), tossed them behind him.
"Do you need a hand, mon ami?" France asked, extending a hand towards Arthur.
England would have preferred to stick his head in a food blender before he accepted a hand from him. "Bugger off," he gasped as Panda bounced on his chest.
"Are the cameras on us?" Panda asked, bizarrely straightening his fur.
"Non," France said. "Zay have been on me, though of course. Do you like my hat?" He winked at the Queen, who was glaring at England.
"You look like a ponce," Panda said to France, for which England almost warmed to the super-villain.
England hadn't spent his spare weekends (when avoiding his parental duties with Sealand) playing darts with the SAS for nothing and just as Mendelssohn's wedding march started up, England heaved Panda off him.
Panda fell back and into the lap of the Duchess of Cambridge who looked startled, as well she might. As if having a nefarious super-villain landing in her lap and ruining her couture dress wasn't enough, Russia popped up behind her (he was sat next to the Duke of Edinburgh, who almost had a cardiac arrest at the shock) and asked her if she'd received his knitted cardigan (which had two head holes) for the new royal baby yet?
Thankfully, the Queen's Private Secretary, who didn't seem to be either intimidated by Russia or perturbed by the general insanity shown by the Nations (for this England admired him and was slightly jealous), approached Russia and told him to go back to his seat. He then plucked up Mr Panda and deposited him in Russia's arms. Russia was so surprised to find himself being told off that he headed off, carrying a protesting panda.
"Well done, old chap!" England remarked.
The Private Secretary pulled England away and down to the side of the church, pinning him against the wall as the bride walked up the aisle (it seemed to England that she'd been walking up the aisle for hours).
"You think this is funny?" The Private Secretary asked when England smiled at the sight of Panda being carried under Russia's arm to the back of the church.
"Not really. I say, I like your tie!"
"Her Majesty says get yourself and your dead kings to the back of the church before the service starts. Oh and what on earth is that smell on you?"
England turned to look at Henry VI and Charles I who were now arguing about who'd had the worst enemies and civil wars etc. Poland and Lithuania were adamantly not looking at them. The humans around them obviously couldn't see the dead monarchs but could sense the disturbance and shuffled in their seats.
England sniffed himself. The second-hand suit did smell odd. "Right-o," England replied as he mooched to the back of the church. "But can you ask Her Majesty if she'll save me some scotch eggs back at the castle?"
He sat at the back with Russia on one side holding Panda and some non-entity C-list celeb on the other. The two dead monarchs had thankfully stopped fighting. Panda, England noted, looked a lot less like a super-villain when he was perched on Russia's knee. Although he was complaining about the view.
Admittedly, they could see nothing. England turned to the C-list non-entity sat next to him. "Excuse me, what's going on?" He asked.
The celeb shrugged and edged away from him.
"How rude," England said.
"That's one of the Spice Girls," Henry VI told England. How on earth the dead medieval king knew this was a mystery.
England sighed. What was the world coming to? He craned his head to see if the service had started yet and saw France schmoozing with Princess Beatrice.
He glared at the Frenchman so hard that France must have felt it and looked up at him and gave him a dazzling smile.
England mimed strangling the Frenchman. France shrugged, puzzled. So England mimed slashing his throat. At that moment an ex Premier League footballer caught his eye and looked understandably shocked.
"Not you!" England mouthed.
France frowned and mimed putting a ring on the Princess' hand.
England didn't understand and mouthed "What?"
France elaborately mimed this again along with some pelvic thrusts.
England suddenly blurted out, "PERVERT!" Just as the priest asked if anyone had any cause or just impediment why these persons should not be married.
The bride whispered to the groom rather loudly, "Is that one of your crazy uncles?"
England wished the ground would swallow him up.
"Fathead. Fancy shouting at a man of the cloth." Panda said to England.
"I was aiming that at France, not the Archbishop of Canterbury," England said miserably. All eyes were on him.
"Yeah yeah. Go get me a beer."
"Get me a vodka," Russia added.
"I know you were behind all that cake bomb business," England whispered to Panda.
"I know you do and you're wrong…" Panda whispered back.
"You mean after all this time it was actually…?"
"Yes. It was…"
"The Britain in Bloom Association?"
"No!" Panda snapped. "Idiot!"
"But… Mr Kumajiro!?"
"No! He was just the fall guy. Use your brains if you have any," Panda said.
"So who was it? Who could possibly have that kind of influence to try to start a world war? To make my cake so deadly…?"
"Well that was you, really."
"Shut up, you two, this is getting really good!" Russia hissed at them.
England was still none the wiser. "So you're not actually out for revenge?" England asked the panda.
"Oh yes!" Panda replied. "Mr K is a good mate of mine and I have no Badminton buddy now."
"I still think you were behind it all," England said.
Panda didn't answer but blew smoke at him.
"You're not supposed to smoke in a church," a B-list celebrity told Panda.
"Get lost, loser," Panda told him and blew smoke in his face too.
England shook his head in apology at the people turning and glaring at them. Honestly, bloody bears! His phone beeped just as the bride and groom were saying their vows. It was a text from France saying something obviously perverted (it was in French). England showed it to Russia, who was surreptitiously wiping tears from his eyes.
"You're not crying are you?" England whispered.
"I like weddings," Russia whispered back. He looked at the text and then looked at England startled.
"Can you translate?" England asked. "My French is a little…rusty," England said which was an understatement to say the least. He'd barely scraped past GCSE.
Russia, whose French was very good, translated, his eyes wide, "I am going to boink, what is that, England? Boink… the princess tonight and you can't stop me as you have all the oomph of a broken elastic band."
"Never you mind what it means," England said darkly.
Panda whispered something in Russia's ear. Russia blushed bright red. "France is naughty. But then he does run that radio show for people in love called 'Ask Francis'," Russia said.
"What?" England asked.
But Russia was distracted by Poland telling him to shush as a gospel choir began singing.
"I need to go and sort out France," England whispered to Russia. "Before he ruins the honour of one of my princesses."
Russia, who couldn't make out what he'd said, whispered back, "You're going to be a princess with France?"
England ignored him and dropped to the floor and crawled on his hands and knees to the end of the pew towards the wall and hit a pair of legs encased in trousers. He looked up. It was his brother, Wales.
"You ruined my caravan!" Wales whispered. "What are you doing?" He added. "Are you drunk again?"
England hurriedly stood up, "That was Germany. I think you should beat him up," he lied.
"Germany's not one to go around tipping caravans upside down. Besides I heard that you destroyed two of his cars."
"That's a lie. It was only one car. The other one was a rental."
Wales raised an eyebrow. A bushy one. It was a family trait.
"How come you're here?" England whispered. "And can you help me get France away from Princess Beatrice?"
"I'm here for the wedding." Wales was in full uniform of the Welsh Guards, England realised. Why were they all here with an invitation when the first he'd heard of this wedding was less than 24 hours before? "I'm in the procession." Wales added.
"Yes but you can help me with France…" England said, trying not to sound jealous.
"I think you need to get over France. It's clearly not going to work out with you two."
"I don't bloody mean that!"
"Oh and if you want some more advice," Wales added. "You need to get rid of that smell."
England harrumphed loudly, just as some Sixth Former from the local school (England assumed) began playing the cello.
England had managed to get himself to the front of the church without the Queen or her minions seeing him. An American pastor had begun a tirade about fire and love (why were there so many Americans England wondered) and pointed at him and shouted, "Love thy neighbour!"
England dropped back down to the floor behind the bridesmaids before the Queen saw him.
He certainly did not love his neighbours. They'd all reported him to Neighbourhood Watch for various misdemeanours namely the screaming, the infrequency of putting his bins out and his overflowing herbaceous borders. Also one of them was now married to George IV.
One of the bridesmaids, the same one who'd wagged her tongue at him, turned round and promptly vomited on his shoes.
He glowered at her and then found the bridesmaid's mother glaring at him. He tried to smile and hissed at the best man, "Pssst…William! Can you get France's attention, please?"
The gormless prince looked at him and then away.
The service was interminable. Really, how long should it take to get someone married? He tried, using a tissue, to wipe the vomit from his shoes and then discarded the said tissue inside the hat of one of the guests. They wouldn't notice.
He tried to catch France's eye but the damned idiot was purposely not looking at him.
Finally, after what seemed like a century, like the spare century England had used to 'master' magic, the bride and groom prepared to leave. So he waved at the bride. She looked at him with a quizzical look. She didn't look like a minor German princess England thought. So he couldn't work out what was happening. (Most of his royalty had indeed usually married obscure German princesses in the past and England was still thinking of the 1700s but that could be blamed on thinking about George IV.)
He managed to sidle up to her before she left with Prince Harry who England always thought was a good egg but gormless. Perhaps he could ask her to put in a good word for him with Germany. "Are you German?" He managed to ask her. "Because my friend Ludwig keeps accusing me of destroying his cars. I mean I did drop a desk on one but…" He got not further before a security guard grabbed him and he was bundled outside...
Bound in handcuffs and sat in the back of a police car England ruminated about why it had to come to pass that asking someone if they were German got one arrested.
"I could get you out of there as I have connections if you know what I mean," an unwelcome voice said to him. It was Panda. He was peering in. He blew cigar smoke at him. "But I have a wedding reception to go to and you know… weddings… business deals…" he then winked and strolled off. He did not get far. Russia grabbed the panda's hand and told him he was going to visit China. (England hoped this was the country of China and not just merely the Nation in his Embassy.)
England could hear Panda complaining all the way down the lane. "You can't tell me what to do! I'm a big shot! I run a billion dollar underground operation! Get off my paw!"
England sighed. Arrested again. He doubted anyone would bail him out this time.
The two dead monarchs appeared beside him. "That's just what I need," he lamented.
"We can go and ask Liz to let you out," one of them said.
"Liz? You mean Her Majesty?"
"Well, we're Kings so we don't call anyone else, much less one of our descendants, your Majesty," Charles I said imperiously.
"She's not one of your descendants," Henry VI told him.
"What do you mean?"
"You don't have any," Henry VI lied to him.
Charles I looked appalled. He actually took his head off his body and laid it down on the seat next to England.
England tried to mollify him, "Well there was Charles II and erm James and Queen Anne and now there's a Prince Charles!"
Charles I did not look up, or should one say his head, which was on the seat next to England, did not look up. England hoped that the King, when he dissipated as England hoped he would, would remember his bloody head.
"Ah mon cher!" It was France. Were all the bloody Nations just going to turn up and gorm at him, England wondered.
"Bugger off! This is your fault and keep your bloody hands off Princess Beatrice. She's royal!" England shouted at him.
"I was going to get you out. I have told ze police zat you are not a threat to ze bride! But I may be!" He finished this with a salacious wink and sashayed off.
England was about to give up. He was going to miss the FA Cup Final he realised and he wasn't going to save the princess. But then an unexpected (but actually unwanted) saviour appeared.
"Well Arthur, arrested again?" Came a chilling voice combined with the stifled air in the police car suddenly turning very cold.
"Oh God…" England moaned. It was his 'wife'.