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The atmosphere around the Balmoral breakfast table was decidedly autumnal. "Have you seen the Sunday Times, Mr Cameron?" Her Majesty asked.
"Indeed I have," the prime minister replied. "There's a marvellous last interview with Joan Rivers. So sad she died, don't you think?"
"I was referring to the opinion poll that shows Scotland is likely to vote to leave the union on 18 September."
"Ah. That story."
"Yes. That story."
An awkward silence followed, as the prime minister debated whether the Dundee marmalade was sufficiently in range for him to be able to grab it without having to ask the Queen to nudge it towards him. A silence broken by the Queen rattling her tea cup against the saucer.
"So what are you going to do about it Mr Cameron? I don't have to remind you this is a matter of the utmost constitutional significance. One about which, if I may say so, you have been rather complacent."
The prime minister nodded but said nothing. It wasn't good form to have a row with one's monarch; and, besides, she did have a point. If he was honest with himself, he had been a bit complacent. Up until a week or so ago, it had looked like the no vote was going to cruise home comfortably so it had seemed a good plan to let the Scots get on with it by themselves and save the bother of appearing like an interfering Englishman. Hell, he hadn't even bothered to watch the first televised debate between Alex Salmond and Alistair Darling. Who had?
Besides it wasn't even really his problem. The Scots hated the Tories and the referendum battle was primarily between the Scots nats and the Labour party anyway. Now he was going to get the blame for being the prime minister who lost the union.
He wouldn't even get any thanks from his own party for wiping out 40 Scottish Labour MPs from Westminster as he would be ousted by Boris by then. It was all just terribly unfair.
"You do know you will go down in history as the prime minister who lost the union," the Queen continued.
"Indeed. I am aware of that, ma'am."
"Well, what do you intend to do about it?"
"I'm not really sure there's much I can do."
"Then you'd better come up with something quickly. One will not be pleased if Scawtland goes feral."
"I suppose I could start by coming to the Braemar games with you, ma'am."
"I don't think that's a very good idea."
"How about a spot of fishing on the Dee?"
"I suggest you do rather more than that. The royal family has done its bit by instructing Kate to get pregnant again and I can promise you the Scawts will only ever get to see the baby in the pages of Hello! if they don't vote the right way. So just bugger awf back to Westminster. If you don't get this sorted in the next 10 days, you won't be coming back here next year."
"And neither, ma'am, will you."
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