I grew up in the Australian Outback. So, it wasn’t exactly beyond the Black stump and on second thought it wasn’t THAT far from the big city. So let’s say it was in the bush.

To the child me it was the Outback though. I loved the town. Dad and I had moved there soon after I was born, my mother having passed away the day before my birth. I loved Dad as well. He was my hero and I wanted to be an CPA like him. I was moderately big. Tall but lanky. In school and sports I was moderately good. Sometimes a bit better than moderately good and sometimes a bit less than moderately good. I usually ran up a good number of runs in cricket and I was good in school in any subject that had something to do with Dad’s work. My real passion though was Drag. No, not the one involving fast cars. The other drag thing. I had loved it ever since Dad took me to watch a performance when I was eight.

The town had a reputation as a moderate center for the drag scene. How it had come about I never knew but once every three months the town came to life when there was a drag-show with some of the best artists in the state assembled. Everyone was looking forward to those week-ends. People came to the town from hundreds of miles to watch. The more than moderately sized townhall (built specifically for this) was crammed. Good clean family fun. Well, at least at the shows I was allowed to see.

By the time I was 15 I had decided that I wanted to be a drag-queen myself. My father supported me. Dad has a wild streak. Perhaps not a very wide one and most people don’t know about but it’s there. He was also the one that gave me the idea for my stage character. According to Dad my mother had once told him her mother had been a princess. You know the old story with princess eloping with bum. Bum dropping princess. Disgraced princess making it to Australia. Shacking up with gold digger. Gold digger striking it moderately rich. Princess marrying gold digger. Couple use the money on drugs and alcohol. Not a healthy life-style. Leaving a ten-year-old orphan. As family legends go not a particularly good one. The last part was true though. No wonder Mother wanted stability in life.

Anyway, I would perform as a young beautiful queen. I mean a real queen, like the young Queen Elisabeth of Australia. Not the old one. Although many Australians are republicans, even if they can’t agree about what kind, too many respected the old queen too much for me to go near that role model. A younger one, with enough differences to make sure my character was different. Dad helped me to meet some of my idols. He even made it possible for me to get lessons from them. The summer before my 15th birthday I even travelled around as an assistant to one of them. Then I felt ready to go on stage.

The moderately big town I grew up in had drag shows every Saturday, not only the big quarterly gatherings. I was prepared to make my debut on a Saturday just before one of the big meets. Doing it after would not be a good idea. Too bad I was down with the flu that Saturday. Then one of the regular artists couldn’t come. Someone had the idea that the cute kid who had worked so hard on his act could substitute. If nothing else it could be good for a laugh. I was going to be up there together with some of the biggest stars in the business! Yeah, talk about sink or swim (stated in the more likely order).

I made a success in my first performance!

I was still on a high when I got back to the tiny room I had been allocated. I had not even started to get out of my stage costume when four stooges entered. There is no other way to describe them. Think undertakers taken out of their normal habitat. Serious, black suits, no sign of humour… Whatever were they doing there at that time? The stooge-in-chief spoke.

“We represent the government of the Kingdom of ***”

Even if it was a tiny place hidden away in a small valley in the Alps I had actually heard about it. That was the place grandmother was supposed to have come from.

“Your Majesty, we have the honour of informing you that you are the new king of ***”.

And he looked insufferably proud having said that. Great joke my friends had set up based on my stage character.

“Good joke! You can tell Bob and the guys that I really appreciated it.”

“Your Majesty! This is no joke!”

Now they all looked very hurt. The Stooge-in-chief hauled out a bunch of documents to prove he really did represent the government of ***.

“This can’t be right. Even if grandma was a princess, she was a girl. Girls can’t be kings or whatever you call it.”

Tells you how smart I am, dressed as Queen Elisabeth I (of Australia).

“Even if priority is given to the male line, women can inherit the throne. As it turns out you are the next in line to the throne.”
“You must be out of your mind. There must be someone better qualified?”
“Your Majesty, you are the last living descendant of King Svantepjåsk IX, the founder of your dynasty. There has been some, ahem, attrition lately.”

Did I say I’m not too smart? That last should have set off all sorts of alarms but all I was thinking of was that I was a kid.

“Get serious! Just look at me! I can’t be a king.”

Too bad I was still caught up in my stage character and costume. My gesture was all too regal.
The stooges looked at me. Then they looked at each other. As one they fell to one knee, put their right hand over the heart, bowed their heads and in unison declared:

“Long live the Queen!”

And I lived interestingly ever after.
I still regret that I never became a Certified Practising Accountant and a member of CPA Australia, like Dad.