Hail the One True King as Richard is unearthed – and Leicester rejoices
WE few, we happy few, to have been born in Leicester are celebrating the discovery of the remains of our One True King, in a car park of a supermarket (or discount-tent, as it was called in the 15th century). "Now is the winter of our discount-tent, made glorious summer by this sun of York!"
All hail, King Richard, our rightful monarch! A curse on those Welsh upstarts, the Tudors, or Twddrs as they were probably known in the accursed and almost vowel-free valley of Llanshagasheep, where girls consort with billy-goats, and their brothers with defanged she-ferrets.
Loyalty to Richard runs deep in Leicester. For decades, the city boasted two splendid technical schools named after him, until, of course, they were abolished by that prating Lancastrian jade, Shirley Williams (Welsh, you note). Every Leicester child would point (tearfully, and with quivering lip) to the Blue Boar Inn, beside the River Soar, wherein our glorious king had slept and then eaten his last meal before departing for Bosworth Field, betrayal and disaster. And thus was a glorious Ricardian future snatched from this world!