The House of Orange-Nassau has done it again, the smug bastards. King Willem-Alexander and his queen, Maxima, have been spotted celebrating not one but two World Cup victories, a feat that has sent British bookmakers into a tizzy. The Dutch, you see, have won both the men's hockey and the women's hockey titles, leaving the rest of the world wondering if their entire country is powered by some sort of orange-hued, cloggified super-soldier serum.
Meanwhile, in a dank Soho betting shop, a man named Brian is staring at a flickering screen that shows the odds of the British royal family surviving the next decade. They have lengthened, he tells me, his voice trembling like a blancmange in a thunderstorm. 'It's the Dutch effect,' he whispers. 'They're making us look like a bunch of inbred ducks.'
The contrast is stark. The Dutch royals, bless their canal-dwelling hearts, seem to actually enjoy their jobs. Willem-Alexander has been photographed beaming like a child who's just been given a lifetime supply of stroopwafels. Maxima, meanwhile, dances with the unbridled joy of a woman who knows her husband's head won't end up on a pike. Compare that to our own dear Charles, who looks perpetually like he's just discovered a badger has died in his waistcoat.
But let's not get too misty-eyed for the House of Orange. They are, after all, royals. Their entire existence is a monument to the absurdity of hereditary privilege. Yet somehow, they've managed to sell the lie better than our lot. Perhaps it's the jolly hockey sticks. Perhaps it's the legal weed. Perhaps it's the fact that they don't have a Duke of York who enjoys sleepovers with convicted paedophiles.
Bookmakers, never ones to miss a cynical opportunity, have reported a surge in bets on the British monarchy's decline. Ladbrokes, Coral, and even that shady website run by a man in a Cyprus call centre are offering tempting odds on a republic by 2050. 'The Dutch victory has caused a ripple effect,' explains a man in a cheap suit who introduces himself as 'Statistical Steve.' 'People see a functional monarchy and realise ours is a shambles.'
What does this mean for the future? Will we see a King Willem-Alexander of the United Kingdom? The thought is both terrifying and oddly appealing. The Dutch king could sort out our railways (they work in Holland), our drug laws (ditto), and our national dental health (their teeth are magnificent). But he'd probably insist on everyone wearing orange, which would clash with our grey skies and beige demeanour.
In conclusion, the Dutch royals have won a double, British bookies are cashing in on our existential dread, and somewhere, a minor Dutch prince is practicing his wave. I'm off to drown my sorrows in a bottle of genever. The only thing that's orange and worth celebrating in this country is the squash aisle at Sainsbury's.
