I know you will remember that his little Empress died.
You will also remember, I am sure, that Marie Walewska didn't love him as she should.
He was not a happy bunny.
However, a new era has dawned. Marie Walewska has moved back in with Wellington, where she is much happier, and Napoleon is on honeymoon with his new bride.
They are still getting to know each other, but I can reveal that the bride is a charming little bantam of delicious prettiness and impeccable origin.
By which I mean, she is Sligo born and bred.
She is still a little nervous and has obviously never seen anything so rude as a CAT before.
As for a DOG, apparently she has heard tell of them, but thought they were rumours put about to scare young chicks.
She is wide-eyed and innocent. But she thinks Napoleon is very handsome and she is most impressed at the smorgasbord he lays before her at breakfast time.
Here is the little golden princess.
|Don't you just love her violet earrings? And her fascinator? And her pert little tail?|
|I'm not sure which is her best angle yet|
|Napoleon is smitten|
She hasn't got a name yet.
(PLEASE bear in mind her imperial status before suggesting anything as frivolous as 'Goldilocks')
I have just had to stop writing and rush outside because such a hue and cry arose (or 'human cry' as I have heard it called here), that I thought a fox had leapt into the orchard and was causing havoc.
The blue, blue sky was full of seagulls mewling and screeching.
I love the noise of seagulls, though I know many don't.
Living all of five minutes from the sea, I would have thought we had a RIGHT to seagulls, but alas, no.
They are a rare sight and sound in our coastal quadrant.
I think they prefer bigger towns and harbours with lots more rubbish to pick over and argue about.
The noisy little divils.
I must go and set out the best linen, light the candles and put a perfect rose in a vase.
The honeymoon couple await their supper.
There will be a small, but perfectly formed prize for anyone who thinks of a suitable name for her.