Dear Baby Cambridge
Welcome, little one, to the World. It’s an okay place most of the time, and we have some lovely castles – you’ll probably get to see those at some point.
I’ve got to tell you, you’re already the coolest kid in school, because you have that massive advantage of having really cool parents. Seriously, we think your mum and dad are great. Some of us even have crockery with their faces on it. No one has a side dish with my parents’ faces on it. That makes you pretty special. (One thing though – when you go over to your mates’ houses for tea a bit later on in life, you will always be given crockery with your parents’ faces on it. No one will be able to resist that. And you’ll have to be polite about it. Because you’re a bit royal, you see.)
Aside from that, I feel I should tell you a few things about what you might expect from your shiny new life.
You may have noticed that gargantuan crowd of people who went mental with happiness when you came out of hospital. The best way for you to think about that gargantuan crowd of people is as a big, rowdy, incredibly enthusiastic and often embarrassing extended family. They will never leave you alone. Ever. Whether it’s a family event or a private little dalliance, they’ll be there.
And by the way: that gargantuan extended family you saw yesterday is only the tip of the iceberg. Your actual, full extended family is probably about a million times bigger than that, and stretches round the Globe. No kid likes writing thank you cards after birthdays, but – jeez. Good luck with that.
You may also have noticed that your gargantuan extended family were quite keen to take photos of you. This will happen. Ever-such a lot. I’ve got an album full of photos of me when I was a baby; this was lovingly put together by my proud parents, and it’s a private, cherished memento of my early childhood. Lots of people have such albums. Your baby album is called The Media. I can guarantee you that it will keep a full and exhaustive chronicle of your life from the very beginning (we’ve already seen lots of pictures of your cute little foetus-form hiding under your mother’s lovely maternity dresses) – and the good thing is, you won’t have to root around in the attic to find your baby album: you’ll just have to turn on your computer, TV, phone, radio, open a newspaper, magazine, or commemorative coffee table book, and there you’ll be.
This thing called The Media will also want to write things about you. All the time. You might wonder why they’re so interested, and it’s got something to do with the fact that one day you’ll be our sovereign leader (more of that later), but you’ll still be baffled as to why they want to document certain things.
Just to prepare you, here are a few things you should expect:
And by the time you get to things like this:
you’ll be used to it.
Going back to that family-members-on-crockery-and-household-items thing, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Did you know that, at the ripe age of one-day old, members of the human race can buy Lego figures of you? Seriously. I have searched high and low for a Lego figure of me, but I can’t find one. Do you know why? Because there isn’t enough plastic in the world to create lots of little Lego heads with as large a forehead as mine. (The other reason is that I’m not third in line to the throne, but it was mainly the forehead that was the problem.)
Would you like your 1st birthday celebrated on a tea towel? You got it. Fancy your first steps honoured by a special edition baby shoes range entitled ‘Next step the throne’? No problem. What about your first kiss marked by every single foodstuff item in the world being made into the shape of a heart for a limited time only? Yup.
Seriously. You will have a commemorative item to mark every single event in your life. First time you get drunk and vomit into a bush?
But aside from all that, one day you may well be our king. That’s exciting, isn’t it? It might not be for a very long time, and you might look like your Granddad Charlie by then, but it’s definitely on the cards. And if you thought your life was mental before then, prepare yourself. You see, your family are kind of a big deal, and when they do stuff that’s worth celebrating – having Diamond Jubilees, landmark birthdays, orgies in hotel rooms – then we go mental about it. We can’t get enough. Just ask your great-grandma what happened last year.
So it’ll all be very nice and everything, and by the time you’re our king you will’ve got to know us all very well, and we’ll have an encyclopaedic knowledge of your bowel movements, your allergies, your blood type, your favourite foods, your embarrassing indiscretions, your girlfriends (or boyfriends), your school reports, that unfortunate acne you had during puberty, the time you fell out of a tree at Balmoral, everything. But you’ll get used to that.
Aside from all that, you’ve got splendid parents, and I’m sure you’ll have a very happy life – and don’t worry too much about the tendency for baldness on your dad’s side; your mum’s side has got loads of hair.
So welcome to the World, Baby Cambridge, and I hope they give you a nice name. If it’s Colin, ask them to rethink. ‘All hail King Colin’ doesn’t sit well, really.
Take care now
Becky and Stickman