Greetings and salutations my ravishing readers!

I am honoured and thrilled to be the travel correspondent for the global phenomenon that is emmaheaven.com. My name is Lady Perdita Fitzwilliam Tudor-Croft, Perdy to friends, Ditsy D to family and Dirty Dita to my unsavoury exes, but you can all call me Lady P.

Greetings and sovereignly salutations my darlings!

Lorks, what a busy month of glamour, glitz, high camp and drama, peppered with tantrums and tiaras it has been!

And no, I’m not talking Eurovision (Song Contest) with its quirky, diva-esque performers, I’m talking about the other greatest ‘show’ and theatricals in Blighty this merry month of May with royal shindigs, shenanigans galore, and a Coronation to attend.

It has been an absolute whirlwind of activity, outfit changes, and copious messaging about a certain someone’s odds of trying (and failing) to overshadow the day…

Anyway…I know what you’re [really] after - don’t we all darlings?! And in true Lady P style, one is going to divulge as many delicious morsels and Coronation ‘crumbs’ that Daddy’s lawyers will permit..

So climb aboard the royal train (wreck)? Toot toot!

The Coronation festivities started a couple of days before the main event, with a select few of us close family, friends, and confidantes being invited to an informal, pre-Coronation soiree at Buckingham Palace. I mean who doesn’t love a well-garnished Pimms with a carefully placed sprig of mint, on the back lawns of Buck house…!?! Not a euphemism. Much…

Whilst one was basking in the splendour of such wonderful eclectic company, a seductive velvety voice called out, “hello?” Its rich velvety tone almost brought me to my knees, thanks to its charming ‘owner’ - the one and only Lionel Richie, megastar singer, and probably pretty rather loaded gent if the goss columns are to be believed.

The Dita of old would have shamelessly flirted with just one goal in mind - an eye on the financial ‘prize’. Thankfully, one is now a much reformed Lady, and the previous aching longings to be financially supported by a man have disappeared. Not that one is entirely averse to a modicum of ‘solvency’ - it would be quite the bonus if a suitor were to be loaded in all the right places - loaded wallet, loaded heart, loaded mind, loaded guns - the Holy Grail of men!!! C’mon. Everyone has their romantic ‘unicorn’. Who doesn’t?!? Judge away darlings…

Anyway, I digress…

Back to the lovely Lionel, who turned out to be the most delightful company; he was not only thrilled to be there but was utterly enchanted by the whole romance of the monarchy. He also seemed to have a rather naughty sense of humour, what with repeated references to ‘dancing on the ceiling’, and ‘all night long’. With a twinkle in his eye, it was hard to tell if he was name-checking his songs, or not-so-obliquely referring to his prowess in the bedroom department?!? Being the perpetual soul of discretion, one couldn’t possibly elaborate any further…[Comment: you can tell that Daddy’s lawyers have got wind of this column, and caught up with me at this point…]

Although one was also invited to the more formal gathering at the Palace the night before the Coronation, one politely declined the invite after discovering that most of the attendees would be politicians and foreign heads of state, who I just knew would absolutely bore the Agent Provocateurs off this gal! To ring the changes - and so early in the ‘season’ - they remained firmly on! I’ll have you know that it takes more than a sharp suit, a fancy title, and a fake smile to woo this fair maiden these days; and let’s be candid here my darlings, most of them are what Daddy refers to as “pretty boring, downright pointless, and so far up their own backsides knob jockeys, that they have a chiropractor on standby…”. Forever the diplomat is darling Daddy!

The morning of the Coronation was heralded by the dulcet tones of Daddy bellowing “it’s bloody raining…it never bloody rains in London, yet the only bloody time we decide to partake of some historical royal festivities, it decides to bloody well rain.” Well thank you Daddy for that rather novel alarm call which deafened and drowned out the usual dawn chorus of birdsong!

Although the weather was not exactly befitting such an august occasion, it didn’t stop Daddy from making a dig at the Russians, saying it was their fault, with their usual mischief-making, trying to rain on this regal parade! It’s not as if we have any say or control over it. However, it is ‘typically Daddy’ to sound off and have a moan at just about anything which gets his goat. So I left Daddy chuckling to himself how ‘long to reign over us’ had somehow got lost in translation with the weather gods…

Once we were all suited and booted - or in my case, ‘hatted’, with a rather fabulous bespoke Phillip Treacy hat perched on one’s head - it was off to the Abbey at Westminster.

Now one wasn’t expecting the best seats in the house. Far from it. However, despite being a good many rows behind the royal family, at least one’s face wasn’t obscured from the TV cameras by an enormous red feather…

Congrats and kudos to both the Princess Royal and whoever decided on her uniform and the seating plan - it was a masterstroke of utter genius, carried off with aplomb, sparing the viewing public from having to witness the Ginger Whinger mumbling his way through the service. And at least he wasn’t publicly bashing the bishop on this occasion, which no doubt will be saved for another sofa-based whingefest down the (succession) line…

The ginger prince seemed about as welcome as a fart in a spacesuit, exuding that faint whiff of desperation and bitterness which seems to follow him around so much nowadays! Perhaps a new fragrance beckons? Eau de Spare/Oh Despair?!

Or maybe a shampoo range for thinning pates and crowning glories, ‘de Spare to the Heir’?! Has a certain ring to it, non?! I really should make better use of my marketing and branding skills and experience. But now is not the time or the place…

The ceremony went off without a hitch. King Charles and the Queen Consort Camilla were ‘sworn in’ to serve us subjects; the heir to the throne, Prince William, the Prince of Wales, with his beautiful wife Catherine were resplendent in the regal robes, accompanied by their gorgeous children, all of whom predictably shone and rose to this momentous occasion.

The music and entertainment at the Abbey were quite exquisite, and actually took one on a little trip down memory lane, of time spent in the company of military bands during occasions demanding pomp and pageantry. The memory of drums and cymbals being struck, whilst trying to raise a C-flat from the French horn player, is a cherished, blush-inducing memory I shall take with me to the end of my days…

Sigh, I digressed, and transgressed for a moment there…

Meanwhile, back in the ‘real world’, against a backdrop of the Abbey’s bells pealing loudly, a certain Spare, seemingly skulked out, hot-footing it back to Montecito. It has been suggested that this strategically-timed exit coincided perfectly with the bell ringing to muffle any possibility of a booing crowd wanting to express how betrayed they felt. But that's just churlish tittle tattle, non? And one couldn’t possibly venture one's own opinion or inside knowledge on the subject…

My personal highlight of the whole weekend had to be the Coronation Concert at Windsor Castle, and what a night to remember! On a more private note it was good to erase the heartache and bad memories of the gruesome twosome’s nuptials, and replace them with good memories of the momentous Coronation extravaganza, with a line-up which didn’t disappoint!

Tho to briefly touch upon the subject of muppets, how exciting was it to see some real American Royalty, with Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy? Now there’s a real femme fatale who knows how to keep a man under the thumb (or trotter)! We just know who wears the trousers in that relationship! Perhaps that’s where a certain former cable TV actress and Deal Or No Deal Suitcase Girl took their inspiration from to ‘ham up’ their performances over the years…?! Oooh meow Dita! #KissyKissy

As for the lovely Lionel Ritchie, he didn’t quite make it to ‘Dancing on the Ceiling’, however, he did manage to get the King on his feet but fortunately it wasn’t ‘All Night Long’! No surprises there tho, as his poor Majesty must have been more than a tad tired after all that waving, and wearing a heavy crown for several hours.

Olly Murs invited us to ‘Dance with me tonight’...Oooh, YES PLEASE Mr Murs, just name the time and place and I’ll be there! One hears he can be quite the ‘Troublemaker’, and one’s ‘Heart skips a beat’ at the thought of a delicious night with the ultra nimble Mr Murs, however it wasn’t to be the ‘Right place right time’...

Katy Perry dazzled from head-to-toe in a dressy gold concoction, whilst getting the crowd to ‘Roar’ in appreciation of her stupendous performance. And even more impressive were the environmentally-friendly drones - not to be confused with the C*unts of Montecito, but the techy airborne type - creating an enormous lion’s head, which lit up the sky, like the 4th of July, followed by an impressive light show for ‘Firework’, dedicated to the newly-crowned King.

Some unkind soul - not me, I hasten to add - said that the ginger whinger probably didn’t want to stay on any longer than nec, as there was only room for one drone at Windsor Castle - him - and that he couldn’t hack the competition…

Take That rocked up for the finale, to make it ‘The Greatest Day’. Daddy quipped that maybe they should have performed ‘Shine’ on Saturday morning to coax the sun out to play? By the time the boys reached ‘Never Forget’, one had to wonder if they were trying to warn the Royal Family in a not-so-subtle way, and to never forget the dastardly duo, with their relentless hand grenades, they continue to treacherously toss across the Atlantic Ocean?

Hmmm, it is food for thought and rather clever of those chaps, however, one would have suggested a little ‘Rule The World’ to hammer home to Ginge and Cringe that not only is the Monarchy here to stay, but that one day his brother and sister-in-law, the Prince and Princess of Wales, will be crowned King and Queen, and that interest in their petty, querulous attacks is rapidly dwindling, on both sides of the Atlantic. Time for their dire global ‘Privacy Tour’ to be shelved, before they entirely kill off any crumbs of popularity or credibility they once possessed.

As Mummy so sagely says, “if you don't have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all!” Whereas Daddy’s version is FAR less diplomatic, and a LOT more ‘street’, with a resounding “oh do just hashtag stfu….”

And on that slightly discordant note, I’m off to have another go on the French horn…

So it’s a royal wave goodbye from me until next time darlings,
Toodle pip,

 **Team Heaven gals**

Producing this month’s column has been an extra challenge, particularly with the ‘b’ and ‘c’’ letters on one’s phone being so proclematib. So you can only begin to imagine our villagers’ distress when I tried organising the bunting for the church’s next May cank holiday garden fete… ducking autocorrect!!!
Tech issues aside, one stayed up extra late to see in this year’s Eurovision results, as one is hoping to plan one’s travel plans and wardrobe for the year ahead. Let’s just say one is already eyeing up the IKEA catalogue to familiarise oneself with the lingo. And don’t even think of sending this Lady to their Croydon branch for immersion training…