This picy was taken some time ago when Roland briefly usurped the throne with a wandering troop of ‘New Romantics.’ He filled the Great Hall with coterie and caterwauling. Luckily my kingdom could not supply him with the right type of eye shadow, so he buggered off to Wales where they are happy to put up with this sort of thing, or so I’m told….
Flaxen had been laid prone and supine (surely an oxymoron?) upon the Great Chair in the Great Hall. As his senses returned he began to make out the uncomely, smelly and gaping visage of Cnut ‘The Dyslexic.’ Flaxen’s son, Athelstan ‘The Unsteady’ and his daughter, Hroslinda ‘Legs Akimbo’ also slowly impinged upon his rheumy eyes and dullard wits.
Flaxen (gasped): “Where is the fair Brynhildr?”
Hroslinda: “Father, we thought it prudent and in keeping with the past narrative, to cast her unto the midden pit.”
Athelstan: “Father, did my new pink breeches arrive from the haberdashers? I have sorely waited and am full of keen anticipation to feel the sequins next to my fair and turgid buttocks.”
Hroslinda: “Athelstan, why do you bother our father so with such trivial matters. Can’t you see he is pondering such weighty matters as to whom I am to be betrothed? My Lord is it King Erik, ‘Micropenis’ or King Redwald ‘The Mightily Hung.’ Tell me it is Redwald, I beseech thee!”
Cnut: “My Lord, the emissaries from Dudley are here with great offerings of pigs pudding, faggots and mushy peas.”
Flaxen: “Cnut, your breath, it would kill an anosmic at 30 paces. Have you been supping from the midden pit, once again?”
Althelstan: “Father there is something of great import which I must impart. From now on and forthwith I WISH TO BE KNOWN AS DEIRDRE.”
Before Flaxen could whisper, ‘O fuck’, he collapsed as if in a swoon……..
To be continued….