My faith in humanity is restored a little. Is it possible to fall in love without even having set eyes on someone, just through hearing his voice? I think so!
Please, please, please listen to his voice and tell me: is he not the sort of Englishman one imagines the perfect Englishman to be?
In the same way that aristocrats might once have had a weakness for choir girls, I too must confess to having a genuine weakness for hereditary peers.
"Lord Cranborne attended Eton College and Christ Church, Oxford and became a merchant banker before going to work on the family estates."
That is just so sexy ....
|Handsome, urbane, well-born, witty and political - just the sort of man I cannot resist|
Sadly, even if he offered to marry me, I would still have to save myself for Lord Mandelson, who is a mere life peer. My head must rule my heart, because I am a politician, after all, and need to get the proles in the Labour Party as well as the homos on side.
I lay in bed suffused with pleasure at the sound of his voice and the witty things he said, about pig farming. I longed to have a little Tamworth piglet running around in my home and longed to look after his pigs, just like the lucky lady who looks after them for him now.
It was his wife who gave him a Tamworth pig for is birthday, and now his farm is full of them. Such a charming story!
If he were to impregnate me and I became an SSM, I would bear the illegitimate child of a Marquis, no less!
His name is Robert. Robert Cecil. Isn't it wonderful to be able to have to look up the first name of a man whose voice you have fallen in love with, and decide you like it after all? It would be terrible if I discovered his name was Cecil ....
Of course, I would always always call him Robert and never ever "Bob" ...
Sadly, these apparently perfect Englishmen that I have such a weakness for are becoming extinct. Etonians these days are the most awful people, like the Prime Minister.
Sadly, standards have slipped and even the the noble Marquis is helpless against the tide of degeneracy engulfing England like a tsunami of SSMs, for his son the heir has let the side down by siring an illegitimate daughter with a divorcee who is the ex-wife of Ivor Barka, born in 2001.
Camilla Barka is the MOBFOB and Ned the FOBMOB should each get 100 lashes.
If I were impregnated by the current Marquis and went on to have his baby I suppose I would have to be lashed too according to the Koranic principles I am now guided by, but I think I could just about put up with that, just to have the distinction of bearing his child.