Youp van ‘t Hek casts his eye over the news of the past week and will not be moving to Volkel any time soon.

Did Trix and Alex organise it so Wilders would be sidelined on the big day? You bet. Mother and son didn’t ring Fred de Graaf in person of course, but they did arrange things in such a way that the poor man had to pour over the protocol like a drunken Albanian chess player until he came up with an acceptable variant to keep Wilders as far away as possible.

How is that sort of thing done? Don’t ask me, ask Dries and Ruud. I’m sure they’d like to tell you. Lubbers especially, but you’ll have to be quick as he’s about to be carted off to the psychiatric ward for a fortnight. It’ll be solitary confinement for him. Ruud must be gagged once and for all. His file says ‘a demented danger to state safety’.

First, he almost gets off by telling the world he was the one who steered the princes towards their present partners, a painful but relatively harmless indiscretion. But now he’s been blabbing about a nuclear cache that is rusting away in Volkel. Congratulations, people of Volkel. In the event of a third world war you’ll be the first to be wiped out. The town is hosting an airforce event this weekend. Perhaps they should hire Lubbers as a guide.

Lubbers and Van Agt, what a great duo. Dries apparently plays Risk with Gretta Duisenberg once week and when they’re done they hum the Horst Wessel song together.

Ruud landed an exclusive contract with Privé recently in which he speaks frankly about prince Bernhard’s favourite pastimes. Ruud learnt from the master how to put his hand on a female behind in the most surreptitious way possible. Editor Santegoeds practically drools as he pumps the old man for more. Not that he thinks Lubbers-gate is his journalistic peak. He is waiting for Jeroen Krabbé to go gaga so he’ll tell him how Barbra Streisand’s little ankle biter peed against the Nachtwacht on a special after-hours VIP visit. And how director Pijbes happened to be carrying a roll of kitchen paper so he could wipe it dry.

Krabbé will also reveal that Barbra was surprised and angry about not finding anything by her good friend Jeroen on the museum’s walls. When she learnt that he wasn’t in the Stedelijk either she threatened to cancel her second concert in Amsterdam. Jeroen talked her out of it so the public wouldn’t have to pay for the short-sightedness of Dutch museum directors.

But let’s go back to pathetic Fred de Graaf who, by the way, is still a senator and in full possession of all his grace-and favour joblettes. I really liked him when he was organising the party on the April 30. He camped out in the Nieuwe Kerk for at least a month, a boner on him as big as his ego in this, his finest hour. But now he’s stepping down as chairman.

‘Stepping down?!’ thundered I’m-not-stepping-down Teeven. ‘What you do is bend your knee to the royals in true VVD fashion and then you think of a good excuse. That’s politics. But stepping down? Never! Not even if Wilders had hanged himself.’

Frans Weekers mumbled De Graaf should have spoken to Jos van Rey first. He would have known what to do.

But how do we find out if Trix and Alex managed the whole thing? I think we should call Obama. He knows everything. Here’s a president who listens to the people and not just his own.

Here it is in a nutshell: Trix and Alex didn’t want Wilders anywhere near them and patsy De Graaf obliged and now he’s made to bleed. It’s alright: his kind likes to shed blood for the monarchy. For the first time in my life I find myself agreeing with Geert. I hope his right-wing pitbull teeth will fasten on the monarchy next week and worry that manipulative, conniving bunch to within an inch of its life. Which will also benefit the Moroccan exam thieves. Wilders will be far to busy snarling at the monarchy to pay any attention to them. Every fraud has a silver lining, as nobody says. 

Youp van ‘t Hek is a comedian and writer.