The Queen’s Stamina Is Depleting

Is the end of empire upon us?

ABERDEEN, SCOTLAND - SEPTEMBER 06: Queen Elizabeth II waits in the Drawing Room before receiving new...
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“When life seems hard, the courageous do not lie down and accept defeat; instead they are all the more determined to struggle for a better future.”

—The Queen, Annual Christmas Broadcast, December 25, 2008

“Cough, cough, I’m sick.”

—The Queen, laying down, September 7, 2022

After a raucous hens weekend (on a Tuesday) of catting about rural Scotland in the shortest kilt she owns with one of the Kingdom’s wildest girl-Tories, the Queen is muting her Slack notifications and calling out of work-from-home. That’s right — after anointing new British Prime Minister Liz Truss at Balmoral, Lilibet dropped out of a virtual meeting with the Privy Council. Guess we know where grandson Harry gets his work ethic from.

According to the Associated Press, the sick day was on doctor’s orders. We know that Queen love computer, so it can’t be a case of Zoom fatigue. She drinks fortified wine and gin like a damn Royal Fishmonger’s fresh catch, so it’s probably not a hangover either. We’ve had our fun here, but I must finally accept the reality of the situation: The 96-year-old’s Queen’s stamina is diminishing, so much so that shaking the hand of a woman who reminds her just a little bit of Margaret Thatcher in her own drawing room is enough to confine her to bedrest.

Of course, she’s had her fair share of mobility issues in the last year, but she has always managed to keep it tight, or at least to encourage the long-suffering 73-year-old boyprince Charles to keep it tight in her stead. Mobility notwithstanding, she’s still managed to romp around with some pretty hot rods. Just a few months ago, she forsook her beloved late husband’s cane for a “sexier, stronger, stickier model” of handcandy to show off for Tom Cruise and 600 horses. Those were the halcyon days of the empire four months ago, with the subject of the nattering birds’ gossip focused on questions like “what was the Queen wearing?” and “what sort of wood was she handling?”

But at some point in the last few weeks, it all must have become too much. Passed around like a tray of so many quail and clotted cream hors d’ouevres, Lilibet couldn’t help but wonder, probably: Will God save the Queen, or is God just extending an olive stick to the sovereign for a few more borrowed moments on Earth?

Liz Truss, meanwhile, is also low on energy.