Wednesday 24 July 2019

The Queen is Dead, Long live the King


In a land far away from the kingdom of Tipton, there was a land (Birminghamland) ruled by an evil Queen Therresalinda the ‘Unready’. She caused consternation and vexation throughout the land and the thegns and bondsmen were very, verily discombobulated. The noblemen did conspire her usurpation and plotted her demise as they were unhappy with the scant and torturous dealings with the adjacent kingdom of Teutland. And it came to pass that Therresalinda while passing royal fluids upon the royal stool did accidentally smite her head/crown against a strategically placed Dane axe. Thereupon her head did roll clean orwf where it landed in the local midden pit, there to be feasted upon by stray dogs and wandering wastrels/minstrels.

The noblemen met in conclave in the Great Hall and feasted heartedly bemoaning the fate of their dead Queen with cackles of laughter and merriment. But who would take the crown and diadem of the mighty kingdom of Birminghamland in these turbulent times and provide a war band and gelt to steer the land to greatness? Who would amass the Carls and standards to stand firm against the hordes of Teutland? The Great Hall descended unto stillness as the nobles pondered these matters of grave import. Ulrick ‘The Incompetent/Incontinent’ (not mutually exclusive characteristics) put forth that mayhap the good noblemen should cast bones in support of their chosen candidate. The laughter of derision did stir the scene as democracy did not abide in Birminghamland. The Birminghamlanders only followed the strong. And anyway, no one could take counsel from a man with two-tone trousers; yellow at the front, brown at the back. No bones would be cast that day.

As the Nobles contemplated their future fate a loud incessant booming clamour did avail itself at the Great Hall’s door. The Nobles turned as one to gaze upon the Great Door in the Great Hall in vivid and lurid expectation. And suddenly the door did wrench from its hinges as if Thunnor had smighted (not a real word) the oak with his mighty hammer. A gasp did collectively emit from the collective mass, for there stood a man of sublime countenance. A man arrayed in golden armour wielding a flashing sword and holding a shield emblazoned with a kipper. His flaxen hair did shine with an unearthly ethereal gleam and upon his broad shoulders sat a ferret, called Shagger (sorry, couldn’t help myself). The nobles did mutter amongst themselves: “Could this be Woden come to provide succour to this troubled land in this troubled time?”. At that moment the man spoke (more god than man, mayhap?): “Fear not, for I’m Bojo of the Vale and I’m here to save the land and lead it from the travails which assail it. I will lead the war band against the Teuts and negotiate a good deal concerning Brexit". The Nobles did cheer as one although they knew not this Brexit thingy- this being 826 AD, an all. "Hail the king, Hail Bojo".

And so it came to pass that Bojo, he of many verbal gaffs/gifts, would lead this land into greatness and prosperity.

As for Ulrick ‘The Incompetent/Incontinent: he missed the whole proceedings as he had to leave the Great Hall to attend to matters scatological after ingesting a rather dodgy vindaloo/poo. Arrrrrrrrse!

To be continued.                

          

1 comment:

  1. I thank you sir.
    A tonic in these dull, post Beachcomber, days.

    ReplyDelete