Before cracking the laptop today I spent a good few minutes trying to figure out the following conundrums.
How can one, pondered I, approach this most grave of subjects both tactfully and diplomatically?
How can one, continued the ponderation, avoid the cardinal sin of setting off an Offence-Bomb?
Indeed, one of my New Year’s Rezzies was to avoid getting Internet all pissed off at me again.
Then the kettle finished boiling.
Having said that, I don’t appear to be the only one who struggles to give more than three and a half minutes serious thought to anything whatsoever.
Has Queen Elizabeth the Tiny lost her freaking mind?
In days of yore which, translated for the youngers amongst us, is also known as yesteryear; Knights of the Realm were sword wielding, armour jangling, white horse wrangling heroes.
They defended the realm against, well, the French and Scots mainly, but also wraiths, hobgoblins and Green Giants who were beset on stealing all our sweetcorn.
A Knight of the Realm was responsible for arse-whooping the Armada so hard that the Spanish are still picking boat splinters out of their cracks.
Another Knight of the Realm sailed to the New World and stole potatoes off some very vexed Injun gardeners which was astonishing, not just because the New World was like, a whole undiscovered country and that, but also really great news because we needed some mash to go with the sweetcorn for our suppers.
N.B: Should probably mention here that obviously the Injuns had been living in the New World for quite a while so they must have been super cross since it was the Old World to them, and they were no doubt quite justified in their feathers getting a bit ruffled when some bloke in a dress flounced into town claiming to require potatoes in return for having discovered them.
It all worked out okay though because we rediscovered the New World again in the late seventeen hundreds and the Injuns, who’d obviously had a chance to think about their behaviour, decided to give us all their land and houses and stuff to make up for being a bit sulky about the whole root veg fiasco.
So, Knights of the Realm: A warrior race who are prepared to defend the British Isles with their lives if necessary and, in honour of that, we gave them their own chamber in Parliament, some proper bling necklaces and red capes ‘o’ velvet befitting any valiant superhero.
They are also, in recognition of their ‘can do’ attitude, allowed to act much like Microsoft Spell Check on the laws passed in this country and, that means, if the mead-swilling, sheep-marrying, illiterates in the House of Commons try to enshrine legislation in cave painting style doodles or paw prints, the Knights will shake their heads fondly and send back the beer-mat with recommendations about the invention of paper and benefits of ‘using their words’.
But, as I already mentioned; that was yesteryear.
This is 2017 and things are a lot more better now.
Lets take a closer look shall we?
Where to begin.
Where to begin.
Smashing chap no doubt and, on receipt of the highest honour in the land was, in his own words: “Very happy and full of plumptiousness”.
If that sounds a bit worrying in terms of his being the last bastion of control vis a vis the whole law making thing in this country, don’t panic, he cleared it all up later by adding that he was “Highly tickled”.
Will certainly add value to the proceedings because she comes equipped with her own red biro and presumably has some experience in writing helpful notes on badly written articles.
Kitten heels, laws, whatever.
Plus, also, if that orange lunatic currently moving his vibrating bed into the White House does indeed manage to instigate WWIII by tweeting shit at North Korea and China then we can rest safe in the knowledge that we have an expert in hemlines and polyester in our arsenal.
Just Googled it; he got a mention due to his services to equestrianism.
Finally a true defender of the faith, complete with his own steed.
Nope, wait, spoke to soon; he and his steed do dressage.
So the plan presumably is to stealthily approach the enemy, slap on some Irish folk music and bewitch them with our horse dancing skills?
It is my strong recommendation that we, as a nation, prevent Queen Elizabeth the Tiny from henceforth, heretofore or evermore being permitted to do anything important during her birthday party or New Years Eve piss ups.
Because lurking out there somewhere is Katie Hopkins.
And her gob.