Monday, 11 June 2007

Her Majesty's Bath Day

The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland is a reasonably chilly sovereign state. It is slightly less chilly than the Republic of Finland, but considerably more chilly than the Republic of Equatorial Guinea. The relative chilliness of these three states is in large measure owing to their respective distances from the equator, and, in turn, their degree of exposure to infrared radiation from the sun, which is not a sovereign state, despite the fact that, in comparison with the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, the Republic of Finland, and the Republic of Equatorial Guinea, it kicks bottom on most criteria, and consequently gets its own way in most geopolitical disputes.

Because the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland is a reasonably chilly sovereign state, its inhabitants, on average, do not perspire with the same abundance as the average inhabitant of, say, the Republic of Equatorial Guinea. It is important to recognise, however, that were an average inhabitant of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland to remove to the Republic of Equatorial Guinea, she or he would be statistically likely to perspire as prolifically as an average inhabitant of said republic.

Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II, is the head of state of Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Jamaica, Barbados, the Bahamas, Grenada, Papua New Guinea, the Solomon Islands, Tuvalu, Saint Lucia, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, Antigua and Barbuda, Belize, Saint Kitts and Nevis (this author's personal favourite), and the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Because she is a dog owner, however, she chiefly resides in the homeland of her dogs, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, which is a reasonably chilly sovereign state (see above). Consequently, she does not perspire abundantly.

In addition to perspiring very moderately indeed, Her Majesty changes her clothes frequently. Sometimes she changes her clothes as often as five times a day. We are not exactly sure why this is. What we can say with some confidence is that her frequent changes of clothes, and her limited perspiration, result in Her Majesty's being slow to become smelly.

Ultimately, this is why Her Majesty is able to bathe on one day of the year without breaching decorum. We call this day the Queen's Bath Day, and in the Eastern States of Australia, it is always celebrated on a Monday. In Western Australia, the Queen's Bath Day falls a week early. This is possibly related to a deceleration in the rotation of the earth induced by the Bathing of the Queen.

Today, this author observed the Queen's Bath Day by remaining in her pyjamas until 4 pm and altogether eschewing her own ablutions. There is only so much bathwater to go around, after all. On an unrelated note, this author had dinner last night at the Moroccan Soup Bar in North Fitzroy and recommends it with all her heart.

8 comments:

TimT said...

It is odd that the English,
A rather dirty people
Should have invented the slogan
'Cleanliness is next to Godliness',
Meaning by that
A gentleman smells faintly of tar.

TimT said...

(W H Auden. His views on the Monarchy are not known. To me, at least.)

alexis said...

"People often say that motivation doesn't last. Well, neither does bathing - that's why we recommend it daily.”
- Zig Ziglar, and with a name like that, who needs soap?

Alextricity said...

Could Moroccan cuisine be making a contribution to the aromatic wafts the body exudes? Perhaps! I must find some good attractions to visit. So far my list comprises of the Nth Melb markets, Melbourne Museum, and possibly the Immigration Museum and/or Jewish Museum of Arts - from what I gathered from the tourism site....hermmmmm
I did quite enjoy the explanation of active perspiration distribution! Keep smiling :)

TimT said...

Ah, Moroccan soup. Cock-a-leekie, hand-crafted in the steaming bazaars of that sprawling cities by a famed guild of Moroccan soup-whittlers and shipped to this country; lobster bisque, woven by keen-eyed vendors, taken from hand to hand along the trade routes of Araby and Persia and Turkomen until it wends its way through to the west; Ah! chicken noodle that brings amongst its steam memories of the Caliphate, the Ottoman empire, of Shahs and turbaned Sikhs...

Then again, it could be imitation Moroccan soup made in a cellar at Ballarat. You never know.

alexis said...

Alextricity, I realise I'm the prime culprit in talking armpits, but it's probably best if we leave the subject of the body's aromatic exudations where it is.

I will just say, though, that this Moroccan soup business really is the business. If I were the exuding type (I leave that for others to judge), you betcha, there'ld be exudiciousness all round.

Tim, when you open your bespoke poetry business, you could also set up a side-line in soups of the nations.

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