Dutch moon
A long time ago in an amsterdam far far away 5 lads are wandering the streets.

Bleary eyed and off our fat little titties we stumble upon a very pleasant square with a lush green park and everything. In the middle of this park we see a TV camera and someone being interviewed for the 'telly n that'. We watch respectfully from a distance until one of our number disappears... he pops up on the other side of the park facing the TV cameras.... We watch with widening grins as he proceeds to turn around, undo his belt and give the camera and the back of the person being interviewed an absolutely stunning view of his puckered hairy anus!

Turns out the person being interviewed was one of the many Princes of Holland.

Witness my length and Behold my girth.
(magicpanda, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 15:11, Reply)

Nearly 'shot' one of the buggers
I don't recommend doing this. Prince Phillip was visiting the building next to us on our Sheffield 'business park'. Our top floor had a cracking view of next door's reception. We had darkened windows (from the outside, can't see in) and I had a reasonably well powered laser pointer.

Seriously, it's funny for about a second to try and 'draw' squiggly lines on the Queen's Husband's Forehead.

Watching every single plain clothes copper in the crowd and surrounding area go fucking mental was a sight to behold. And the secret service. And the police. And the mayor. Philip, oblivious of course.

My heart rate must have hit 4 figures until i disposed of the laser pointer, (in the void void above the false ceiling, best hiding place ever), returned to my desk and played it very very cool when the secret service came and spoke everyone in the building. I even managed to look annoyed at their presence.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 15:02, Reply)

can't think of a catchy title
a mate of mine used to work at ascot racecourse and on racedays had to get there ridiculously early in the morning to stand any chance of finding a parking space. one raceday during royal week a couple of years ago, he arrived later than usual and had to bung his car wherever he found room - as it turns out, halfway across the entrance to one of the car parks.

so he goes up to his office to get on with the days duties. a few hours later his mobile phone rings and it turns out to be the police. they'd tracked down his mobile number based on his car registration number, in order to tell him that his car was preventing the queen's carriage from getting into the racecourse!

ok, so it wasn't me, and he didn't actually meet any royalty, but it's the thought that counts!

* length, girth, blah, blah *
(secretsquirrel, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 14:31, Reply)

Well
The queen came to ma home town hayes a while back n well the day she came i left to go bk to ma lovely room in kingston n have a couple pints. thats bout all really
(Fluent In Bentish Living in Scatman's World, tis being fun!, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 14:24, Reply)

Lets all have an ASBO
I did know a Canadian bloke who told me that story, I haven't seen him for years so I guess i'll never know if he was talking bollocks or not.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 14:15, Reply)

Golden jubilee celebrations
Saw all the royalty go past in their golden carriage, bit crap really.

Apparently a friend's uncle was doing some building work and walked past with a ladder. Prince Charles said "whats that then?" this was met with the reply of "its a ladder dickhead". Charles: "i guess i am then". Uncle still got thrown in jail for the night though. bastards.

oh and i live like 10 mins away from the polo park they use frequently.
(/lurks], Fri 4 Aug 2006, 14:12, Reply)

The Duchess and I...
Once upon a time, there was a young blue aardvark, and he was selected to be the Duchess of Kent's page boy for an honorary degree ceremony. "OK, so I get to meet royalty," he thought, little knowing that he would be forced to wear the outfit associated with the role. Anyone who knows me will have problems imagining me wearing this green & gold number, and I never had the legs for stockings... I was mercilessly mocked by my little brother about this. His glee lasted for about a year, until he got volunteered into performing the same duty, and I took plenty of photographs. I even sent some off to HRH, and got a nice letter back.

What did I get in return for my humiliation? An encyclopedia, autographed by HRH herself, using just her first name. I've probably still got it somewhere. Does this put me on first-name terms with her? I doubt it somehow.
( The Blue Aardvark Unavoidably detained by reality, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 13:37, Reply)

Kings and queens
Im decended from William the Conquerer,which is pretty cool I think.

Im also related to Right Said Fred,which isnt very cool at all.
(Miharu, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 13:22, Reply)

Colonel Dracula
Great story, but it was better told in FHM. It was voted their best 'true story' in their 1st 100 issues...
(Let's all have an asbo, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 13:21, Reply)

Randy Andy
My ex's pals husband used to be 1st officer on Prince Andrews battleship and told me that Andrew would freely tell you about how much he would wank over borrowed jazzmags in his cabin (ALOT, apparently), tell stories about how dirty Fergie is/was in bed and how he would shag your entire family if given half a chance. But strangely Andrew would never talk about Prince Edward, like he was some sort of outcast...
( Normanator Bad case of trapped wind since, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 13:20, Reply)

Oh shit- just remebered
I used to go to Lancaster Uni- whose Chancellor was Princess Alexandria- who dished me out my degree- so i have met royalty- yeay me!

Cant reember wot she sed though- if anything
(Keyser Soze, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 13:16, Reply)

Not me but...
My dad saw Princess Di in Smiths once.
(Toist, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 13:07, Reply)

Royalty
My group (and hence myself) of Uni friends are mates with Brian Mays nephew- does that count?
(Keyser Soze, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 13:04, Reply)

I live in Brighton.
I know a lot of queens.
( bierbelly, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 12:55, Reply)

Duke Of Edinburgh
I've just done my D of E Gold. After the lamentable experience of traipsing over the soggy Welsh landscape, helping snotty little kids, and doing some useless skill, I have been forced by my mum to attend the awards ceremony. Apparently this means I have to meet Prince Phillip. Suggestions as to what to do/say to the wrinkly old institutionally racist sponge are welcome.

Oh, and apparently I'm descended from an ancient Chinese emperor on my mother's side. Very distant, and that was in the days when emeperors were two a penny, or Ren Men Bi, or whatever they used.

Also, you know that thing they featured on HIGNFY that tells you how posh your surname is? www.spatial-literacy.org/UCLnames/Surnames.aspx
My name was 8. That means only 8 percent of people in the country have a posher surname than me. Kneel, peons.
(LickOutTheJamsMotherfuckers!, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 12:50, Reply)

The Queen and Big Phil
..came to our school when I was 10 once as part of their 'visit' to the borough I lived in (Lambeth). My mate Ashley farted when Prince Philip shook his hand, following through into his undercrackers in the process.

So basically the silly ginger cunt had a shit in front of the queen and her husband, which is his only real achievement to date and one he still boasts of to this day.
(Fonkadelix is fucking bored, pass the crack pipe Mavis., Fri 4 Aug 2006, 12:46, Reply)

Really?
When I was in infant school, one of the boys claimed that his mum was the Queen and she went shopping in a helicopter.

the fact that he smelled and had holes in his shoes made me suspect that this possibly wasn't true.
(clapper, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 12:42, Reply)

on the dancefloor

I am king.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 12:36, Reply)

Hold up
Went to Royal Ascot and was walking to get into the the racetrack. Moving throught the crowds I noticed the the road was empty. As with everyone I hate to walk through crowds so I moved into the middle of the road.

Ambling away at my own pace I noticed that there people where staring at me. I started to feel uneasy. It was then I heard a toot. I turned around to see that I was holding up the entire Royal procession. So there you go, Queen has tonked her horn at me. I think she liked my tight buns.
(El Wapo, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 12:30, Reply)

Bit shit...
I was in Amsterdam last week, I had my photo taken grabbing princess Di's tits in Madame Tussauds. Hard to see on the photo but I was also humping her....does this count?

Completely unrelated but..
My partner made me take pics of her grabbing the cocks of Ghandi, Nelson Mandela and Winston Churchill.
(leelad_, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 12:29, Reply)

Being shot by Spanish bodyguards
The daughter of the Spanish king (and reputed Diana shagger) Juan Carlos was at our university, along with a handful of very beefy bodyguards who never took off their jackets.

Come Rag Week the traditional game of Murder was planned. The players all submit a photo of themselves and their address and course details and each is sent a file on their target. Each player is also someone else’s target. Methods of disposal vary – the traditional water pistol or balloon is very popular but the game inspired some amazing feets, such as the water balloon that used a lit cigarette as a fuse to get it to burst.

Anyway, the game was cancelled after the chief Spanish bodyguard visited the Union and pointed out that his men were trained to shoot people waving pistols and to avoid bloodshed maybe the students could skip it that year.
(paxvobiscum, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 12:29, Reply)

I used to work for an IT reseller
called Teksys.

We had a stand at the health and education IT expo and I was tasked to head over there toot-suite and get some snaps of prince andrew browsing our stand.

his heiness approached, our PR girl wanderd over, courtseyed and offered her hand. He politely said 'ah, i see....youre from Teksys I take it?'

she replied

'no, egham....'

a thousand royal 'doh's

anyway i didnt get any pictures as it was in the wake of the diana crash and there was a bit of beef wiht taking snaps of the royal family. We had to bribe the london tonight cameraman with a free Ipaq for some footage.
(Screwpot, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 12:19, Reply)

Also
My best friend is Portuguese. If the Portuguese monarchy still existed, her father would be a Duke, making her a Lady. I think.
Of course, it doesn't exist any more.
So it doesn't matter, really.
(niceandwarmandhot vive la résistance, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 12:07, Reply)

Royal Family in Sniper Drama
In 1997 our school opened a new sports hall. Of course, for these sorts of events you need somebody important to officially cut the tape, and declare the building open.

So, a list of sporting greats was chosen, with Ian "Beefy" Botham topping the list. So, the school approached his agent to book him. On being told that it would cost £8000 for a day, they decided that really it should be a member of the royal family, as befits our school (and for the fact that they do it for free!)

So, the big day arrived. The bomb squad had been stationed in our school for most of the early morning. Sniffer dogs had done their round (catching many a pupil out for a crafty fag). The whole school waited patently for the arrival of our Royal visitor (Duchess of Kent - the one who used to always be at Wimbledon). She wasn't arriving by car, oh God no! She was arriving by helicopter!

All the pupils formed a giant circle as the helicopter landed, and the Duchess clambered out of it. She proceeded to meet the high and mighty (Headmaster and Governors), and to speak to the pupils. However, in the background, there some movement by the Royal Protection Officers.

High up in one of the boarding house, they had spotted a sniper who had taken up position with a clear line of sight of the Duchess. With swift thought and well-practiced manoeuvres, they sprinted to the boarding house, broke down the door, and run upstairs to the room where the sniper was.

As with all security services, surprise is their main weapon. They battered down the door to where the sniper had positioned he, and charged in, weapons at the ready.

This is where they found the Head of Drama, recording the events outside with his video camera. To say that he got a fright might be an underestimation! The Royal Protection Officers, apologised, explained the situation and left. I don't think he recorded any more of it!
(deane1980 - I wasn't working at:, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 11:57, Reply)

Where do I start...
Hehe, when we meet 'Merkins, they think that my family's practically royalty, apparently meeting members of the Royal family as many times as people in my family makes you a member yourself. At least, that's what the Americans my Grandparents were on a cruise with last month thought when they told them all this
My Grandad's worked with Prince Charles. They went to a buffet lunch once in Bradford, that my Grandad had helped to organise, and because my Grandad was so busy sorting stuff out, Prince Charles offered him his lunch, and went back and got himself another plate
My Grandparents have had lunch at Buckingham Palace twice
I've sung for the Queen when she came to Bradford a couple of years ago
I met Princess Anne to be presented with a certificate when I was 15
I think that's it. Nothing massively interesting, but I like showing off.
(The Who Bird is eating Jaffa Cakes on, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 11:51, Reply)

An acquaintance of mine is Canadian and a committed royalist (to the British Monarchy)
He will not have a bad thing said about them; he salutes the flag, stands up for the national anthem, the works. In the 70’s he worked on the North Sea oilrigs and one of his duties was to man the radio, give incoming helicopters clearance to land and talk them in.

Now the thing about working on oilrigs (apparently) is that because they are such extreme places to live and work, everything has a procedure. Any deviation from a procedure is very dangerous and could result in accidents/death/towering inferno. You get the picture.

One day he spots a helicopter flying in low heading straight for the oilrig. He tries to contact the pilot – no reply, tries again – nothing. As the helicopter gets to the oilrig it’s obvious the pilot intends to land but starts flashing the wrong landing lights.

So this acquaintance of mine is faced with an unidentified helicopter doing everything wrong heading straight for the oil rig, which is effectively a petrol bomb on stilts with 200 men on board. There is also a possibility of workers near the landing pad being blown off the platform to a watery grave.

So he sounds the alert. Sirens blare, drilling stops and 200 men follow the correct procedure for an imminent impact on the rig (which I believe was to put your head between your legs and kiss your arse goodbye).

The helicopter lands without incident. My acquaintance tears across the landing pad, grabs the pilot by the lapels as he steps down and shouts in his face something to the effect of “You stupid fucking cunt, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tear you a new arsehole…”

The pilot apologises, removes his flight helmet revealing himself to be Prince Charles. He had come to give the boys a surprise visit and tell them what a great job they were doing (Britain had gas shortages) and generally cheer them up.

My acquaintance has never forgiven himself, but the visit was a success and Prince Charles didn’t bat an eyelid at being called a “stupid fucking cunt”.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 11:28, Reply)

Drunk and not funny (or royal)
Met the British Honorary Consul in Poland. We were both due to give a speech to a group of students, he representing the Nation and I representing a chain of language schools. He turned up drunk in a rat-bitten golf jumper and jeans and bored everyone comatose. Later, at a formal meal, he cracked some mindless sexist joke and laughed heartily.

"I'm a funny guy, aren't I?" he smarmed.

"No," I said.
(frankspencer, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 11:21, Reply)

hal9001
Nooooo nonononononono

That was a Billy Connolly gag you stole. Which he told in the Albert Hall in 1984 so I suppose technically it counts...
( Normanator Bad case of trapped wind since, Fri 4 Aug 2006, 11:19, Reply)

I met Princess Anne
while visiting Doncaster prison. I was being pulled out of the visiting queue as a sniffer dog had noticed my chemical odour. Had they searched the lockers in reception they would have found a bag of pills I had inadvertently brought in a coat pocket.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Fri 4 Aug 2006, 11:04, Reply)