Posted February 17, 2013
We take you now to the Kingdom of Greensleeves Guelph where the court of Queen Karen II of Farbridge is in session.
“Your majesty,” spoke the Lord High Chamberlain, Earl of Hammill, “the peasants are restless and are demanding lower taxes.”
The Queen swiveled her throne, chain of office sliding awkwardly across her chest, and coldly stared at her trusted friend and advisor.
“I will not countenance any resistance to our crusade to change our Kingdom as we see fit,” the Queen stated. “ We are preparing our lands for the future. Surely the peasants should recognize that. Look at what we have accomplished already.”
“With respect Ma’am,” Earl of Hammill replied, “that’s what they are complaining about, that they are being taxed to meet your agenda of spending on favoured projects that they don’t want. They are particularly angry that you have not built a new mid-village library as you promised.”
“Your highness, most exalted one, “ Count Amorosi, the Court Jester opined, “ I have the pulse of the peasants and they are all talk and no action. We still have our supporters who believe in what we are doing … for them. Do not fear this rabble of doomsters and naysayers. Verily, they are of no consequence as we pursue our agenda.”
“Highness, a word of caution here,” a voice from the rear was heard. “We have been careless about our messages to the people. Even when we tell the truth, they don’t believe us. Often perception is more damaging than the truth,” said the Earl of Findley, one of the Queen’s staunchest supporters.
Suddenly the door burst open and Lady Laidlaw stepped off her bicycle exclaiming: “Let then eat Timbits. They wouldn’t know progress from a hootenanny.”
“What’s a hootenanny?” the court asked in chorus.
“Never mind. Majesty, I want horseless carriages banned from Norfolk and Gordon lanes so cyclists can move freely without danger,” Lady Laidlaw said while munching on a leftover ham sandwich from the close session of court. “Waste not want not,” she mumbled as she consumed the sandwich.
“Majesty, can we not resolve this with a public meeting?” Piped up Countess Piper of Universal Accommodation. “ Our royal communicators are adept at managing the news so the flock is mollified.”
“Mollified? What’s that mean?” Mused the Royal Scribe of Letters, Sir Scott of Tracey, as he frantically searched for more feathers for his quill.
“I think it means don’t tell them what they don’t need to know,” dead-panned the Earl of Hammill. “If they question us further, we will call in the High Court Executioner, the Integrity Commissioner.”
“Oh, oh, oh, oh,” chorused the courtiers of lesser rank, those responsible for running the kingdom. “Not the Integrity Commissioner!”
The Queen entered deep thought before responding: “Suppose we just take off, you know, close down the kingdom for three months every year? Methinks the rabble will calm down and forget their specious complaints.”
“Let’s see, January would be a good month for starters. It follows the holy month of December when everyone is busy. It also affords needed rest time for the court after the lengthy budget-making efforts.”
The Queen adjusted her crown that had become askew: “ Verily I think we should add July and August so we may enjoy the warmth of the sun and the Royal Beaches without the peasants challenging our work.”
“Brilliant Majesty!” Exclaimed the Countess Hoffland of the Speed. “Sometimes a rest is better than just keeping our noses to the bulldozer.”
“That’s grindstone,” muttered the very junior Sir Guthrie of Blue Shield, who has been locked in the stocks for daring to question the Queen.
“It would save a lot of money,” said Count Amorosi. “ Just think, no hiring of lawyers and consultants for 20 per cent of our work year. The treasury will grow to meet the expenses of previous times when we had no money.”The scene shifts to the far reaches of the Royal Court to see Sir Wettstein of South End and his sidekick, Page Dennis, asleep and snoring softly.
“Methinks the Kingdom is in good hands,” commented Court Musicman, James Gordon, fresh from the Grammy’s. “I feel a song coming on.”
Guelph Speaks 
Gerry: Absolutely brilliant! Let them eat Timbits succinctly sums up their credo.It may be too short to qualify for a Giller literary award for fiction, but then again the queen & her sycophants are living in a fantasy world of their making.