Cyrene Scene Change

Like a wildfire, the news is sweeping the lovely country of Northumbria that the psychopathic tyrant of Cyrene - Murmur O'Daffy - has recently been ousted from his palatial tent after a tenure of three hundred and fifty seven years, and is currently making his way to our blessed shores as an illegal immigrant. An auspicious future awaits him on benefits furnished from the bounty of the Northumbrian state benefits system - along with the gazillions of piastres he's embezzled. He deserves a happy and relaxing retirement.

O'Daffy has been deposed after a long and exhausting but valiant struggle by his countrymen, who'd eventually grown tired of being thrown into prison and tortured for breathing in his presence. The successful rebel army was enthusiastic and in good morale, but ill-equipped and disorganised to the point of finely-tuned perfection, but this was no barrier to the Inevitable and Invincible Progress Of History. But I expect that they received just a teensy-weensy bit of help from the awesome professional fighting forces of the Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire) and the stormtrooping Praetorian Guard of the power-crazed and hubristic Emperor Jose Borracho and his half-witted and bizarre co-regent Hermit Rumphole.

All of the politicos in this Sceptered Realm are forming an orderly queue to make profound statements and claim for themselves the credit for this fantastic achievement. It's very touching and - frankly - heartwarming. I can feel my dinner coming back up... excuse me for a moment..

I'm particularly impressed by the humility of the Redistributionists, who modestly claim their part of the kudos for O'Daffy's downfall. This is particularly significant, since O'Daffy was one of the iconic darlings of the Redistributionist camp; held up as a paradigm of Sensible Reditributionist Governance and virtue, thousands of them would take annual pilgrimages to Cyrene at public expense to sit beneath his malodorous feet and - like King Solomon of old - catch the breadcrumbs of wisdom that proceeded from his oddly-shaped chops. Of particular note is the famed Redistribution Kindergarten of Nonsense called the Yorvik School of Esoterics, who depended on O'Daffy for a lot of his silken charm - and money. I do hope that they can manage from now on; there's not a lot of groats around at the moment because the Redistributionists have spent them all, so things might get a bit tough. Perhaps O'Daffy might throw them a groat or two - if they can find him. I suggest they start in the Shambles at Yorvik. He may decide to carve a career for himself selling olive oil...