The Romanian Throne

Being 485th in line of succession to the Romanian throne has its compensations - none of which easily comes to mind now one comes to assess it though.

Just in case the worst should happen and a palace coup conjoins itself with a probably quite unlikely series of coincidences leaving most of the crown heads of Europes dead, it behoves one to survey the country that should have been mine. It was for this reason that one found oneself this week on a six and hour hour train journey from Bucharest to Iasi this week not helped by the weather which my office had failed to arrange 'more appropriately' - getting good staff these days remains a problem - so as temperatures sailed into the 40s, and sadly I do mean new fangled celsius and not old-fashioned farenheit, I was sharing my transport with a selection of sweaty Romanians.

Now Romanian's by any description are an attractive race but Romanians know how to perspire with greater efficiency than any other nationality so rather than engage in witty intercourse with my fellow travellers I decided to snooze away the journey using as a pillow the Cardigan which any sensible Englishman carries everywhere should the weather unexpectedly turn and he needs to keep the chill off his kidneys.

I watched the world go by - slowly as it happens. Romanian trains come in a range of flavours ranging from the 'Personal' which apparently do not move at all, they are simply long enough for travellers to be able to walk between stations; 'Accelerat' which itself is probably a gross exaggeration and 'Inter City' which do just that but generally only slowly. The latter two categories have toilets on board - these are what Americans would call bathrooms - but sadly the toilet itself amounts to little more than a bucket bolted to the floor through which one may survey the trackbed. Research continues into suitable flush mechanisms and these are expected to be deployed widely. For those who cannot guarantee that they will not wish to relieve themselves during the next six hours, I can recommend taking your own tissues as these are one of those things that are considered to be an optional extra.

So, the world is passing by slowly and in the immense heat I notice that the overhead lines are wilting between the pylons. I nodded off to enjoy a pleasant dream which included the sights and sounds and surprisingly smells of the Six Form Common Room at my old school. Having not seen my children for days, they too joined in the fun and romped happily on the school playing fields. It was then that my dream began to turn ugly. The Hon. Rupert, ones heir, was playing with a piece of wet rope trying to wrap it around a low-hanging yet high-voltage cable. In my slumber I shouted but no noise came out. He was having such fun he could barely hear me above the hullabaloo. I raised the stakes and shouted harder but to no avail. Finally I screamed a sort of scream that brings to mind Fay Wray giving King Kong the cold shoulder.

My valet prodded my with some embarrassment. The carriage was silent. The Hon. Rupert may not have been able to hear me but I had forgotten to keep the volume turned down for the benefit of my fellow passengers. "Just a bad dream, Sir" he reassured me.

Let me assure them - my people - when Regele James comes to the throne, all Romanian trains will have full air conditioning and functioning toilets with paper. And we'll say nothing more of the girly scream that struck fear in the hearts of ordinary law-abiding Romanians.