Posted: June 7, 2011 by Thom Dicomidis in Uncategorized
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Unfortunately, as can be the case where class pedigree is held to be of higher concern than the perils of consanguinity, Prince Charles was in the family way. Said euphemism had of course, amongst the family Windsor at least, been altered by royal decree to indicate not a pregnancy but rather that one had gone raving batshit insane.

Mounted on a horse requisitioned from the royal guard and wearing a suit of armour that had belonged to some ancestor or other, Prince Charles rode up and down The King’s Road, its regal name pricking a further spur to his madness. Galloping hither and thither in a pattern as nonsensical as the very existence of his outdated station he would, seemingly at random, fixate on one of his mother’s subjects and scream “Abolitionist!” with an almost insensate fury. As his accusation rang out he drove his horse onward, lance raised to gore the offending passerby.

And so it went, until The King’s Road was littered with the less nimble of the accused abolitionists and the rest had scattered, leaving Prince Charles to charge quixotically at parked cars, shop fronts and bus stops. As his maddened eyes flitted from potential insurrectionist to possible anarchist, Prince Charles petted his blooded horse. At some distance an engine’s roar barked out over the slow clop of horse’s hooves. Prince Charles turned to regard his new challenger, China Miéville, who raised his lance in an ironic salute and donned a black motorcycle helmet. The joust was set.

A carrier bag fluttered between the two competitors, an ersatz flag calling them to arms. They charged, with China Miéville covering the ground more quickly but Prince Charles having the advantages of both height and some recent, if grim, practice. In the instant before their lances crossed China Miéville angled his weapon steeply, trying to catch Prince Charles under the chin and avoid harming a largely blameless horse. The reverberation of his lance shattering shook down his arm and caused China Miéville to spin out, being thrown from the bike. As he rose, painfully but uninjured he readied himself to return to combat, but Prince Charles was vanquished, with only his steed seeming to grieve over his prone and battered form…




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