Prince William and Princess Catherine have added an extra stop to their L.A. trip — and it’s Skid Row! That’s right, the royal couple will spend some time at the downtown Los Angeles mecca of homelessness, bestowing their fanciness on some 17,000 transients. We traveled through time and tracked down Kate’s diary entry detailing the experience:
Today was our final day in Los Angeles, and William and I visited the Skid Row area of downtown. Most of the people who live on Skid Row are homeless, and a lot of them are on state-assisted welfare — which I suppose is just like me and Wills! Before we left, Honeykins and I wanted to make sure we were dressed properly for the occasion. William decided to forgo his top hat for a simple bowler. I wore a fascinator made of feathers that reminded me of the pigeons I anticipated we’d encounter in our wanderings.
We arrived at a tent city on the corner of 4th and San Pedro. Hundreds of people milled about, even though it was a weekday and the middle of the afternoon. The first thing to strike me was the overwhelming stench that permeated the area. I’ll try to describe it the best I can: you know when you’re in the stables in the early morning because you want to check in on your ponies and you discover that one of them had recently gotten into the carrots and the chocolate cake? Well, it was that, magnified by a million, plus a hint of, ahem, how should I say… “sick.”
Frankly, the people on Skid Row didn’t seem very excited to see me and William, but I had to remind myself that this is America and I can’t expect the same reception we get in England. Although spitting in our direction and chucking bricks at our heads did not quite seem warranted. Right away, a man named Lucky tried to sell me a tiny vial of crystals. Honestly, I found the jewelry a bit tacky — but I’ve seen them on some of the black maids around Buckingham Palace, so I thought they might make a good gift for their daughters’ christenings.
William and I were whisked away and taken to a soup kitchen, where we served food to the people. Although I didn’t taste any of the stew of beans, chili, and tomatoes, I feel it’s safe to say that this meal really offered a counterpoint to the argument that food in the UK is terrible. It did not look appealing in the least, though I suppose Americans who have been raised on McDonalds and Taco Bell might not have such discerning palates. Oh, Diary, I’m just terrible, aren’t I?
Next, Honeytootles and I toured a hotel for people with the HIV affliction. The rooms were tiny and sterile and bright red. Metal bars covered all the windows – I told our tour guide he might consider removing them so as not to block the view for the guests, and he said he’s take it under consideration. Wills and I ordered room service, but unfortunately the cocktail that was brought to us was simply a trio of antiretroviral drugs. They were, perhaps, out of champagne.
Oh, I almost forgot! Willykins and I adopted a son! His name is Darrell, he’s four-years-old, and he weighs seven pounds. Oh, he’s so cute I can hardly stand it at all.