I have decided to go into exile.
It's either that or have a stiff brandy and shoot myself in the library after lunch.
Yes, I shall become a king-in-exile. I shall set up an alternative government in Canada. Or Preston Plunknett.
I will not colaborate with these...these fucking Nazis. These PR men in moleskin brownshirts.
But first I shall go to ATP in North Somerset with my pals where we will drink and scheme.
No, no, no...I cannot leave you...I cannot abandon you, my people. I shall return to Yeovil - my birthplace; the town where my heart is forever buried - and there I shall pick off the enemy one by one, like a sniper hidden in a tree. I shall protect and nourish thee, my little ones.
These are shitty times we are about to enter. We are all kings-in-exile. Such is our lot; always has been, always will be.
But worry not during these dark days, for I have your back.
And you, I suspect, have mine.