OPINION | Sunday, 06 April 2008 Sir Jeffrey at the Final Battle Being the third and ultimate instalment of this curiously never-ending epic of chivalry and corruption. By Raphael Vassallo Three days and three nights after Sir Alfred the True chickened out of single combat with Sir Jeffrey (thus passing up a rather convenient and timely occasion to read aloud the incantation that would banish the Green Knight’s credentials forever), the Day of Doom itself dawned mercilessly upon the realm of King Lorenzo. The Mintoffaur! Ever with quaking hearts the Bards still sing of that fell hybrid creature, half man, half-horseshoe belt-buckle; for long it wrought terror in the mists of antiquity. But though the Mintoffaur itself hath largely faded into a labyrinth of his own nebulous imaginings - pursued (or so it deems) by its own Curiously Imaginary Antagonists - its name is yet a portent of terror and doom... especially among the mindless chimera-men of the Oracle of Austin: whom the Mintoffaur, in its paranoia, and even at the utmost end of age, would fain pursue and bludgeon mercilessly with its dreaded walking-crutch. Then one by one, the King displayed unto the masses his few surviving champions: Sir Tonio of the Causes Just, who richly from the kingdom’s coffers doth reward his closest henchmen... “just cause” they happen to be Nationalists; Sir Carmelo the Especially Clean, who waged endless wars against the Amazons of Gzira; and Dame Dolores of the Invisible White Parchment, who hath so long pledged us Tithe Reform, that the white of her promised parchment hath faded yellow as the skin of King Lorenzo before its magical rejuvenation. But lo! With a bang and a flash and an explosion of little fairy ballerinas, Sir Alfred the True himself did appear, and aloft he held the scroll that sealed Sir Jeffrey’s fate. “Hear ye, O genetically defective ones,” the sorcerer said; “for verily now shall I read aloud the fell truth of Sir Jeffrey’s nefarious crimes, of which King Lorenzo is most certainly aware!” Alas for Sir Alfred the True! For so beguiled was he by the prophecies of Priviterus, that verily he disdained the Sorcerer General Warning, and quite forgot about the enchantment of the Mintoffaur. For on pre-battle Friday did all this come to pass, when no Man, Woman, Child or Newspaper was permitted to repeat the spell. Thus it was that Sir Alfred the True, who held within his grasp the Sceptre of Victory itself, did squander the potent magic of the scroll; and as predicted, its sorcery rebounded upon its wielders. Anon! Sir Michael’s Lions of Change did verily change… into fearsome tesserati Laburisti, next to whose fury and unbridled ferocity lions are like unto pitiful kittens; and bravely did Sir Michael flee before their savage wrath, wailing “Oooo, Eeee, Aaaa, Ooo” as he went. And long Sir Jason hid in the Naxxar Counting House; until Good Sir Peppi the Unbiased, he who commandeers the golden Charabanc at the Oracle of Austin’s bidding, did find the coward as he cowered, and placed him in the stocks, to be pelted by furious Labour pundits with his own magic mud. And Sir Alfred the True? He at once abdicated (truly, this time), and never more regaled us with his prosy Wednesday points; but not before anointing his rightful successor. For though King Lorenzo was victorious, his crumbling empire had been further weakened in the fray, and his Magnificence was diminished. For his Kingdom was now held aloft by none other than Sir Jeffrey Orlando himself: and though he had survived the wicked designs of the grim sorcerer, and was hailed as victor by the Enchantress of Bidnija herself, Sir Jeffrey hath yet to reckon with the magic of the scroll. (NOT QUITE) THE END Any comments? |
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