Saturday March 19, the night of The Big Wedding, one of Australia’s favourite cuddly couples, Malcolm and Lucy Turnbull, settle in for a rare night at home.
MALCOLM: Care for a cuppa Lucy love?
LUCY: You making it?
MALCOLM: Of course. What do you feel like?
LUCY: Queen Anne Blend and two Choc Royals on the side.
MALCOLM: Really! Tonight of all nights, that’s what you want? You know, I’m really angry we didn’t score an invite to Harry and Meghan’s big day.
LUCY: Suck it up, big boy. No point in crying over spilt milk. And by the way, don’t spill any milk onto the saucer, the way you normally do.
MALCOLM: Don’t tell me to suck it up. I’m all sucked out. What do you think I was doing at the Commonwealth Heads’ get together and every time I saw Harry or William? Sucking up to them big time, so we would be invited. I even told Lizzie she’d never looked lovelier and she’s 92. I couldn’t believe it, but the old duck believed me. 92. I know Mahathir is back in at 92, but he wasn’t voted in because of his Justin Trudeau good looks.
LUCY: My turn to have the remote tonight. I’ll warm the telly up while you make the tea.
Malcolm goes off and returns with two cups of tea, two Choc Royal biscuits and two white chocolate Tim Tams. He notices what Lucy is watching.
MALCOLM: No Lucy. Please. Not the wedding. You heard me say I would boycott it once I heard we weren’t invited.
LUCY: Oh, be a sport, Malcolm.
MALCOLM: Sport. That’s a good idea. I think there’s a big NRL game tonight. Manly Panthers playing the Melbourne Sharks.
LUCY: Shoosh. Oh, Malcolm. She looks gorgeous. Her dress’s train goes forever. It would reach from Melbourne to Tullamarine.
MALCOLM: I bet the taxpayers have to foot the bill. Fucking waste of money. What about me? I bankroll my Party’s campaign out of my own pocket and I’m making sure Melbourne will finally get a train line to their airport. Not that I’ll ever need it.
The phone rings. It is Governor-General Peter Cosgrove.
MALCOLM: Peter. Lovely to hear from you.
COSGROVE: Malcolm. You okay? You don’t sound as vibrant and excited as you usually do.
MALCOLM: You’re right. Can you believe we didn’t score an invite!
COSGROVE: Yeh. That’s why I rang. I’m the bloody Governor-General, the Queen’s representative. What fucking good is it if it doesn’t score me an invitation.
MALCOLM: And I’m the PM. I feel like closing our Embassy and dragging Brandis back here to teach the fuckers a lesson. Mind you, if Abbott and his lot see George back here it may add a bit of ginger to their desire to white-ant me.
COSGROVE: Dead set Malcolm, I feel like chucking it in and opening a news agency in Townsville.
MALCOLM: I wouldn’t blame you. I’d better get back to Lucy. Talk soon, Peter. Bye.
Malcolm joins his wife on the couch.
LUCY: Malcolm. How good is this! They’re singing ‘Stand By Me’.
MALCOLM: I prefer John Lennon’s version. I would have thought ‘Stand By Your Man’ would be a better choice.
The wedding continues. Malcolm becomes grumpier and grumpier. The happy newlyweds are seen riding in a horse-drawn carriage, waving to their adoring subjects. They eventually disappear from the public gaze.
MALCOLM: Thank god that’s over. The sooner we become a republic, the better.
The phone rings again. Malcolm answers it.
HARRY: Malcolm. It’s me, Harry Windsor. Prince Harry.
MALCOLM: Oh, Prince Harry. It’s wonderful to hear from you. I’m so excited for you and Meghan.
HARRY: I don’t have time for that now. I need your help.
MALCOLM: Of course. How can I help?
HARRY: I hear you were a lawyer in another life. I need help getting Meghan to sign the prenuptial. There are still a few sticking points we have to sort out.
MALCOLM: It may be too late. You’re already married. I suggest you hold back and don’t consummate until after she signs.
HARRY: Not a hope. We Windsors are the Kennedys of England. No big deal. We can backdate the day of the signing.
MALCOLM: OK. I suggest the first thing to do is show real concern for her father’s health issues...
HARRY: What do you think caused the hold up with the prenuptial?
MALCOLM: Our slow NBN? That’s a local joke, Harry.
HARRY: We are a family of traditional values and ways. Tradition demands the bride’s family foots the bill. When Meghan’s father saw the quote for the day’s festivities, the poor blighter had a heart attack.
MALCOLM: Yes. I see. Don’t worry, your Highness. I’ll bail you out. Let me know the final cost and I’ll pick up the tab. Once Meghan knows you’ve sorted it out to her father’s advantage, she’ll be so happy; she’d sign the Magna Carta if you asked her to.
HARRY: I knew you’d be able to sort it out. Thanks Malcolm. Better go now. Duty is calling. Ciao!
MALCOLM: Anything for you, my Prince.
Malcolm puts the phone down.
MALCOLM: Lucy. Lucy. I knew he wouldn’t forget me. That was Prince Harry. I hope you’ve been taping the wedding so we can watch it again.
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