Chelsy? Spare Us!

She thinks that woolly mammoths still roam the earth, wonders why buffalo don’t prey on deer, has crashed four cars in the space of a year and has named her deformed toe ‘ET’.
So it is, then, that Chelsy Davy, serious squeeze of third in line to the throne Prince Harry, can claim exactly the right credentials and soaring intellect to become (all going well) a potential member of ‘the firm.’
With the exception of the comedy of the aristocracy recoiling in horror at the thought of a princess with a council estate name, so far, so what? Wild boy Hezza’s choice of a ditzy, perma-partying ‘Fergie’ to compliment his more regally behaved brother’s ‘Diana’ (real name Kate Middleton, but do you really expect the UK press to let her move out of the shadow cast by the ‘Queen of Hearts’?) is hardly news beyond the tabloids and lands somewhere betwixt ho and hum in terms of affecting our day to day lives in Bristol, right?
Well, no, actually, because the ‘zany’ Zimbabwean, whose multi-millionaire Pa was, until a recent tiff, great mates with that cheery despot Robert Mugabe and his cabinet, is moving here soon to take up a post grad course at Bristol University.Yes, hot from drinking South Africa dry of Sambucca during her recent £10k plus 21st birthday celebrations, Chelsy is staggering Bristol-wards to have a go at our stocks, between lectures at the city’s prestigious, but not exactly Oxbridge, uni.
Thankfully, going on her recent observations about the eating habits of buffalo, it’s not zoology but politics that Chelsy will be studying.
I’ll leave what that says for the future of political thinking in this country for you to ponder.
Chelsy’s move to rainy Bristol from sunny (but murderous) Johannesburg is apparently in response to Harry’s wishes for her to be closer to him when he’s on leave from the army - his dad’s modest little Highgrove pad is less than 30 miles away - which is sweet.
It’s a nice plug for the university, too and validates all the efforts they’ve made to move away from being the destination of choice for braying, pampered toffs.
The rest of the city can look forward to seeing itself as a backdrop to endless front pages, magazine splashes and news bulletin “and finally’s” of Chelsy doing this and that but nothing really in particular.
When Chelsy does slope into town the sheer volume of paparazzi milling around on the top of Park Street are likely to bring the city, already teetering daily on traffic grid lock, to a complete halt. Heat magazine will probably open a regional office. Points West and The West Tonight will think it’s Christmas come early.
For my part in the forthcoming media scrum I’d like to volunteer my services to the local paper as a ‘Nearly A Royal But Not Quite If Granny Has Anything To Do With It’ correspondent.
I’m no royalist but I am qualified to crash cars and neck flaming Sambuca’s with the best of them. It’s probably best not to ask who’s going to be paying for all the new security that will be deemed necessary, but if ever there was a reason your council tax bill isn’t itemised... Still, maybe Chelsy and Hezza will provide their own security.
Harry’s gran is the commander of the British forces afterall, so she could probably lend him a tank or an aircraft carrier.
And Chelsy’s dad is a big game hunter who made his fortune charging Americans to shoot the elephants on his reserve in Zimbabwe. Suffice to say he’s probably quite handy with a 12 bore and could provide adequate protection , although I think Bristol Zoo ought to think about applying for an ASBO, just in case.
So preparations for the ‘Chelsy in Bristol’ industry are well underway. But what about poor old snubby nose herself? Landing here is likely to be something of a culture shock for young Chels, nick-named Dubya by Harry not because of her political ambitions on a global stage but, well, because he thinks she’s a bit thick.
Sure, Johannesburg, where Chelsy’s currently finishing an undergraduate degree, is a racy place to live in; notable, among other things, for being both the playground of the rich and unpleasant and the murder capital of the world.
But Bristol is something else entirely and though we can’t claim to top the homicide charts the traffic’s murder and the accent outside of Clifton impenetrable.
So, where will she live? Where will she dine, how can she spend her trust fund when there isn’t even a Harvey Nicks here, and where’s the nearest polo pitch?
Lovely as it is to imagine Chelsy taking lodgings in Knowle West or Bedminster and catching the bus to Park Street everyday it’s pretty much a given she’ll move into a plush Clifton Village apartment - say on Saville Place, The Mall, The Paragon or if she’s really pushing her luck and Harry’s ‘I Do’ buttons, ultra posh Windsor Terrace - and not leave the square mile of the ‘village’ the entire time she’s studying.
While the small but loud brogues and jeans brigade that inhabit Clifton in term time think that going to the bottom of Park Street is slumming it the rest of the city can at least sleep easy in the knowledge that it’s unlikely we’ll be overhearing chats about hunting , balls and what a drag it is to own Cornwall on the bus into work. But when Chelsy comes to town we’re all going to be interested. Whether we like it or not.