I see that the Royal Princes today are hanging around in Pizza Huts and not having sex with sex slaves but i kept myself busy while i was hanging around waiting for the mad old sod to die, while he was hanging jewellery off his ears and pretending to be a Christmas tree, i re-designed Buckingham Palace, Windsor Palace and got hitched to Princess Caroline of Brunswick but only because if i agreed to tie the knot with a nice Protestant girl, my dad said he would pay off my debts which were £630,000, or £63 million in today's money.
The wedding didn't exactly go to plan as i was already secretly married to Maria Fitzherbert, and she was a divorcee and a Roman Catholic (bit awkward), so the second marriage didn't get off to the best of starts and when dad finally died, i banned my wife from my coronation which some say the public rejection and humiliation helped her die just three weeks later.
The British public turned on me, seeing me as a drunken, selfish oaf which wasn't helped by the Duke of Wellington calling me the worst man he ever known in with his whole life, the most selfish, the most false, the most ill-natured and without one redeeming quality.
Sixty years i had been waiting for my dad to kick the bucket and by the time i got to the throne i was almost a pensioner which is why ten years later, most of them bedridden, i was kicking the same bucket.
It appears that all that heavy drinking and indulgent banquets finally caught up with me and when i died i was obese and riddled with gout, partially blind, had hardened arteries, fluid retention, porphyria and an enlarged heart.
My obituary in The Times wrote that: 'he would always prefer a girl and a bottle to politics and a sermon', make that preferring a girl, a couple of bottles and a really, really big pie to anything.
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