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Wednesday, September 1st, 2004
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| Time: | 4:57 pm. |
| Mood: |  apathetic. |
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Hamlet appears to be making a point of ignoring me. We haven't spoken for two days now.
The dirty looks I get from him could soil a shirt, and when I gave the cufflinks back to him he just took them and retreated into his room.
What's more, I can't find his journal. He took it out of the Rosseau. Not that I expected any less. I tried some other authors that he might have felt some metaphorical attachment to, but to no avail.
Gertrude, have you spoken to him yet? This is getting quite tiring. He should at least be able to converse with me.
And Polonius says he has news for me. No doubt it'll be another thrilling update on local crop rotations, or something like that.
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Sunday, August 29th, 2004
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Well, this journal appears to be becoming somewhat of an addiction for me, and Gertrude and I are leaving an abundance of notes for each other. It's an interesting form of communication, and I wish I had thought to keep one before.
I think I saw Hamlet writing in one the other evening. Perhaps, if I see it discarded somewhere, I should just...I mean, I can't help it if he leaves the thing lying about. He's perfectly welcome to leave notes in my journal. Not that he would think to look in my shirt drawer, which is where I'm putting my journal from now on, Gertrude, if you're wondering where it is.
We've been considering having our honeymoon in Scotland, but it's so unfortunate that it might be postponed because of this argybargy with Norway. Frankly, I'm not surprised that they'd be so callous towards us. Though we usually have good relations with them - or at least we did before my brother started his headbashing over there (he was always jealous of the fact that they had sledders in their armies, but we couldn't have them here because there's not enough snow all year round) - their timing is almost always off on things like changes of diplomacy. Now, just out of spite, they're not importing any more of those puddings you can only get from there. I forget what they're called, but I adore them. I'll ask Gertrude if we have any left from the last import, I believe they keep quite a while.
I need to ration them carefully so that with any luck, by the time the friction has stopped between our countries, we won't have to change our dessert menu.
Anyway, speaking of Scotland, I'm expecting a letter from King Macbeth soon, as I broached the subject of a visit in my last correspondence, though in such a fashion that implied it could be either way. I don't really care for long journeys. His wife has also written to us (seperately, which is slightly odd, though her tone is distinctly different from her husband's), and I find myself wishing to meet her; she seems very interesting. And Macbeth, of course.
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Friday, August 27th, 2004
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| Time: | 9:25 pm. |
| Mood: |  thoughtful. |
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When I was younger and my brother was king, I had a lot of spare time on my hands and I used to wander about Elsinore wondering what I would do if I was in his position. A lot of ideas I had were, in retrospect, completely absurd. For instance, I always harboured a secret desire to build a colosseum, as they had in Rome. The closest we have to such a marvellous structure in Denmark is one of those ampitheatres, which doesn't even hold a thousand people. Also, they never put on anything exciting there - why were gladiators ever abolished? All we have now are tired old satires and comedies; everyone has to go and force a laugh every so often just to keep communal entertainment alive in Denmark. Terrible.
As wonderful as it would be to revive the circus maximus, however, it would never gather enough approval to be done. Our gentle Queen, especially, would not approve. Hamlet, no doubt, would emulate his father's disapproval but then be too busy being entertained to complain. There is no doubt, of course, that my brother would abhor the idea. He was the one who commissioned the ampitheatre. But how boring, honestly, even though I can't really expect much else from him.
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Thursday, August 26th, 2004
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| Time: | 2:47 pm. |
| Mood: | lethargic. |
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Why on earth is Horatio running around Elsinore with those two guards? Surely the guards should be guarding and Horatio should be making his usual futile attempts at cheering my stepson.
You could cut the atmosphere around here with a knife. I truly wish someone would take down that black crepe paper from the funeral, it looks awful with the decor.
Hopefully the party tonight will liven things up a bit.
Maybe Hamlet and I should sit down and have a little talk before the party. But whenever I try and initiate a civil conversation, he gets this dreadful melancholic look on his face as though I'm trying to verbally impale him.
Gertrude keeps saying that he's still fragile, but I can't really see why he should still be that way. After all, I didn't burst out of nowhere, a complete stranger, to marry his mother. I've known him his entire life. When his father frowned upon his exhibitionism and promiscuity, I praised him for it. And what is he now? A promiscuous exhibitionist, and probably a lot happier than he would be if he'd gone against his nature and grown up all uptight and moralistic like his father.
Pity he has to idolize that sort of thing so much though. He should really just forget about being like that; I'm sure he knows, in his heart of hearts, that it's dreadfully boring. But no - all we hear is father, father, father.
Oh, there's no point in talking about this here. I'll just become frustrated again.
Besides, I must dress for the party. Gertrude doesn't like me lazing about in my robe, drinking port and writing in this journal. I must agree - it's a dreadful habit for a king to have. Duty calls, though sometimes I don't hear it from under my bedclothes.
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| Time: | 1:25 pm. |
| Mood: |  amused. |
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As a sidenote, I think some of the interests I have listed in this journal may be a bit blatant. Hopefully nobody will notice.
Besides, if they're rude enough to read my journal and accuse me of having rotten interests, we'll both be as bad as each other.
Then again, I have a suspicion that people ARE reading this journal. May I remind these people (I'm sure it's Hamlet that's doing it, so Hamlet, if you're reading this, I'm sure your father would be very disappointed in you) that leaving this open on my bedside table is not an invite for free reading.
And who wrote a comment under my last entry? At least they were complimentary, whoever they are. If one reads someone's private journal, they should at least have something positive to say.
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Tuesday, August 24th, 2004
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| Time: | 8:37 pm. |
| Mood: | jubilant. |
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The coronation was today. Very convenient having a coronation and a wedding on the same day. I'm sure it saves on catering.
I think I made a good impression on the court, arranging that little send-off for Laertes (I also said that speech I've been practicing in front of the mirror for the past week or so, I think it came off quite well). I need to make a good impression, considering Hamlet's unseemly moping about all the time. Granted he's in mourning, but surely he could change out of that depressing outfit for his mother's wedding at least.
Besides, it's not very healthy to wear the same outfit day after day.
Gertrude looked radiant today, and extremely happy, as well she should. She loved the dancing. My brother never could dance. The fox-trot was always a particular struggle. But charming as she is, she always blamed her swollen toes on ill-fitting shoes. Bless.
I am glad we don't have to hide our feelings anymore, though we did enjoy the risque fun of encounters in out-of-the-way corridors in Elsinore. It was always Gertrude who got the most pleasure out of that, anyhow. I daresay she will miss it.
I was always worried we would run out of guest bedrooms. There were only about seventeen left we hadn't used. That's one problem solved.
Hamlet acted very gracious in agreeing not to return to Wittenburg, but I am sure that it is only because Horatio has been about Elsinore lately, and he is the only reason Hamlet would return to Wittenburg anyway.
It's not as though he's big on studying. If he was, he wouldn't make such an irresponsible prince, I'm sure. This country would fall to pieces under his rule. He'd probably spend the entire royal treasury on some madcap alchemy project.
Anyway, Gertrude seems keen on integrating him back into castle life. Hopefully he won't get in the way around the court, I'm getting rather sick of his mocking little asides. "A little more than kin" my eye. He's lucky I didn't want to ruin Gertrude's special day with petty semantics. I could beat him in a battle of wits (or puns), if the right opportunity arose. He has no regard for circumstance.
I like his new haircut though. Very blond. It does look smart on him.
Must go, there's so much going on, and I believe there's a party tonight. We must start loading the cannons.
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