St George’s Day

Forgive me, for I have been tardy. I neglected to scribe a missive in honour of that fine upstanding chap, St George.

I was a little under the weather yesterday. I arrived at the Club early for our annual celebration, and we raised a glass to many an English hero. The toasts were numerous and it all got a little misty eyed.

As I am as solid as an English Oak, I am beholden to remind one what it is that makes an Englishman the Chosen One. What gives an Englishman the right to patronise the world?

It is priorities. A true, upstanding Englishman knows how to be a gentleman.

For example, if one looks at Raleigh, one sees a chap who carried on playing the games he was taught at boarding school, whilst that damn Armada had the temerity to sail into our waters. Once he finished his game, and only until then, did he turn a steely glance upon the swarthy infidels and use his guile to send them on their way.

Here is a chap who knew what was important. A chap should never interrupt a game of cricket for anything but a cup of tea and a slice of cake. A call at the Club from ones bookmaker should be brushed aside until the last drop from the bottle of vintage claret has been drunk.

So, dear fellows, I hope that your St George’s Day saw the oak in your grounds grow ever stronger, and that you managed to sing Rule Britannia very loudly until your voice was hoarse.