Royal baby A-Z: Everything you ever wanted to know about Prince George

Filling an obvious void in the market for nuggets of information about the young prince - and some of them not wholly made up

(PA)

A is for Auntie Pippa, the columnist and party expert with the great bum – four times winner of Bum of the Year at the British Bum Awards – and who is expected to offer Kate advice along the lines of: “If George’s bath water feels too hot, you may wish to cool it down” and “if his bath water feels too cold, you may wish to warm it up”. Auntie Pippa may or may not be offered a publishing deal for a coffee table book providing more detailed instructions, full-page photographs, and a chapter titled Taps, And How To Turn Them.

B is for breastfeeding which, according to “a palace insider”, Kate is “determined to pursue as she really wants to nurse her son herself”, and as “a royal source” confirmed: “Kate was breastfed and thinks it’s best for baby.” Meanwhile, “an aide who did not wish to be named” commented: “Haven’t you made enough people up for one day? I’m off for a nap.”

C is for the royal baby coverage, and the coverage of the coverage, and the coverage of the coverage of the coverage, and this A-Z, which is part of the coverage of the coverage of the coverage of the coverage. Such coverage, in any of its forms, is unlikely to cease because, just when you think there is nothing left to say, on Earth or even on Jupiter, the Daily Express will run a wondrously inventive headline of the kind, and calibre, it did on Thursday: “Richard Madely thinks the French feel left out of royal baby celebrations”.

D is for Diana, the grandmother Prince George will never know, who ran amok among the royals and who would have been a fun babysitter, teaching the heir games like Kick Charles and Bite Camilla, and nursery rhymes such as: The Grand Old Duke of York, He Is A Total Dork.

E is for Eton, where Prince George is likely to be educated, and from where he’ll emerge with a place in the old boy network, an air of effortless superiority and the propensity to pronounce “toast” as “taste”. He may, in later life, and on occasion, mix with his inferiors, order a “tasted sandwich” and then wonder why some fool has taken a bite out of it.

F is for the French, who feel left out of the celebrations, apparently.

G is for George, the chosen name, even though many fervently hoped the future king would be called Kong or Sized Mattress. The most famous George in history is George Cole, the British film and television actor who starred in ITV’s long-running drama Minder. There is a children’s book character called Curious George, who is a monkey, and not that curious, and quite tedious. (Curious George Goes To The Seaside was a particular let-down.) One of Enid Blyton’s Famous Five was called George and had a loyal dog, Timmy. For dinner party purposes, this is all you need to know about “George”. And now you also know a bit about “Timmy”.

H is for the “hideous baby boy” that Kate might have had. But, luckily, she had a “beautiful” one instead. Always a worry.

I is for ignoring all the rest of the news in the world, had there been any.

J is for Jenny Packham, designer of the pale blue polka-dot dress Kate wore when she stepped out of the hospital cradling George, and whose website immediately crashed as people rushed to buy it for themselves. Anything Kate wears flies off the shelves, and it is the hope of many that one day, for whatever reason, she will go walkabout wearing lederhosen, a jester-type hat with bells on it, and those stiff Indian slippers that curl up at the toe, so all the girls at Vogue will wear similar the next day, and the rest of us can laugh until our knees give way.

K is for Kate, the first woman ever to give birth. (People who think having babies goes way back, and may even pre-date both the iPod and George Foreman’s Lean Mean Grilling Machine, are just being silly.)

L is for the new verb “lindowing”, from Lindo Wing, to describe reporters hanging uselessly around hospitals with nothing to say. You will know you are lindowing when you are required to look at a doorway for many hours at a time as no one enters, no one exits and there is no news on the no-oney front. Lindowing is exhausting at all times, but particularly during heat waves, and to freshen themselves, lindowers must rely on tissues, hankies and wet wipes, collectively known as “lindow cleaners”.

M is for the Middletons, Carole and Michael, who will be looking after Kate and their first grandchild at their Berkshire mansion as the royal couple’s apartment in Kensington Palace continues to be refurbished. “Carole and Michael are looking forward to being hands-on grandparents,” said someone or other, who may or may not be made up but probably is.

N is for nanny, and the absence of one, as “Kate has decided that no one outside the immediate family will care of the baby in the early months.” William had a nanny, Olga Powell, to whom he was close, while Prince Charles had a nanny, an under-nanny, a nursery footman, a nursery maid and someone who had the job of polishing the wheels of his pram before he was laid down to sleep. This may be why he is bonkers.

O is for obstetrics, and Kate’s gynaecologist, Marcus Stechell, who is also the queen’s gynaecologist, which no one in their right mind wishes to think about. (He also performed the Duchess of Cornwall’s hysterectomy, but that was OK, because there was a party atmosphere, helium balloons and a finger buffet; you can say what you like about Camilla, but she knows how to turn the humdrum into an event.)

P is for the pea which, when placed under several mattresses, will one day tell Prince George whom his princess should be, and because a princess can never testify against a prince, they will live happily ever after.

Q is for the Queen, the Prince’s great-grandmother and who, according to “a royal aide who does not wish to be named” (I’ve napped!; I’m good to go!) is “absolutely thrilled to bits”. Meanwhile, “a palace insider” declined to comment as “I’m on my lunch hour”.

R is for royal baby and the fact that, if he is one of those fat, wrinkled babies, he’s seriously going to get it in the neck from the Daily Mail for letting himself go.

S is for Silver Cross, traditionally the pram of choice for the royals, although Wills and Kate have broken with this tradition by opting for a Bugaboo. The starting price for their particular Bugaboo is £1,200, and, for all we know, and for that sort of money, it may well come with wi-fi, ensuite, infinity pool, gems room and in-pram hunting. Bless.

T is for The Christening Gown, which dates from Queen Victoria’s time and may be the largest item a small baby has ever been forced to wear.

U is for Uncle Harry, who vows to keep his nephew “out of harm’s way” rather than push him under a train or drop him from a bridge on to the motorway.

V is for very, very, very, very much hoping we can all turn our attention elsewhere now.

W is for the untold wealth Prince George will enjoy and inherit, including land, property, palaces, titles, the Crown Jewels and, according to OK! magazine, “all the whales, sturgeons and dolphins taken in the seas within the realm”, as dictated by “a statue from 1324”. The magazine has yet to reveal the location of this statue, or if any readers’ trips to see it are planned in the near future.

X is for Xylophone, which has nothing to do with anything, but I’m tired, I’m hot, I’m thoroughly bored with the royal baby, and the end is in sight…

Y is for Yo-Yo. (See above.)

Z is for Zzzzzzz. Obviously.