I am sure that you will all be delighted to read in the Torygraph that some interminable busybody has been poking around among the dead, and claims to have found the bones of king Alfred in a box in Winchester. It is a little late to return them to him, but I am sure he is grateful for the attention.
Most of you will be familiar with Alf, although very few will have attended his funeral. I wish they would leave him in peace, along with future corpses in North Hampshire, amongst whom I may well number sometime in the next 50 years.
The Torygraph reports that the bones may be those of Alf’s son, Edward the Elder. Alf showed great perspicacity in bestowing this sobriquet onto his son. Many of our modern royals resemble shrubs, in appearance, intelligence and, one would like to think, in their contribution to the welfare of us all. Ted’s daughter married an illegal immigrant, one Sitric Caech (Norwegian for Citrus Cake), and thus the purity of the genetic line was ensured.
Alfred is portrayed as a great hero among the British. I am sure Michael Gove has a photograph of him on his desk. He was not, however, a great liberal reformer, and somewhat cruelly named one of his sons Ethel Weird.
When I get home, I shall have a rummage round in the loft to see if there is any trace of Vortigern, king of the Britons.