Goodnight sweet Prince. The grandfather of the nation has been laid to rest and we as a country can continue mourning one of Britain’s greatest people.
I held my pint aloft in the car park of The Red Brexit (local rebranded itself during lockdown) and saluted him for all he’s done.
My silence was shattered by two youths shouting “knicker sniffer” at me. This woke attack stemmed from a time I was falsely accused of stealing female underwear from a washing line. Now yes I was in possession of said underwear but I hadn’t stolen it. It had fallen outside the garden and I was only taking it home to try and discover the rightful owner.
There was no need to splash my face all over the local tabloids when they found that bin bag full of pants. I explained I’d ordered them in error from The Internet but alas as a straight white male they couldn’t wait to get one over on me. I’m sure if I’d have been a ANTIFA anti statue hooligan I would have been given a medal. The state of this country.
There was certainly no cause for the investigating officers to break open the locks on the shed at the bottom of the garden. Now I hadn’t been in said shed for months so to pin the blame on me, after they discovered 178 items that had belonged to my ex wife, is nothing short of farcical.
Like the Grand old Duke I am an misunderstood British eccentric who is all at sea in this post woke wasteland. I only want to pay my respects to this great gentleman of Britain and, like Andrew, I don’t want the odd embarrassing shenanigan from my distant past to be mentioned.