Lord William Daft

It is with great sadness that I heard on the wires that our brave Lions have been defeated on the high veldt by those pesky Boers.

The error of course was in the choice of Captain. No side proclaiming to represent this Sceptered Isle should be led into battle by anyone other than a proud upstanding Englishman. I acknowledge that our Celtic brethren make super infantrymen and they work wonders with a pick axe down the mine.

However, all on these isles look to the charm of an Englishmen to lead the line into battle and outwit our colonial opponents with a caddish wink and a languid air.

The clerks of Petty Insurance Brokers may breathe a deep sigh of relief. Those who receive telegrams from irate bores may sup a glass of beer in peace. The letters editor of The Morning Post may take a day off, as his post bag will be lighter than usual. Serfs who take the modern moniker of “Customer Service Representatives” may throw their flat caps in the air and take the steam train to a sordid seaside resort, partake of an afternoon nap followed by a small flutter at the dog track.

Sir Thumper Dung is leaving these shores for a few short weeks.

His abrasive letters filled with acerbic put downs shall pause. His quill shall have some respite and prepare for the next round of intense ranting.

Countess Clog shall journey to the latrine facaded MacDonald eaterie for a surreptitious beef carccass pie.

Hymns shall be sung in Westminster Abbey praising the Lord for the respite from the Hectoring of the Dung. Our fine Land shall relax and ease itself into a jamboree that shall last from the day Dung boards the steam liner until the dark day that his ship lands again at port.

In the meantime, New Mexico will suffer from his braying, baritone voice caterwauling at  the ineptitude of bell boys, the incompetence of tavern keepers and the inexperience of his bag carriers.

The old curmudgeon is coming to New Mexico. May God be with you.