by The king weighs in on a prime minister who chatted up an impostor
On Kings, Impostors, And The Peculiar Modern Art Of Chatting With Strangers
Good people, settle yourselves, for I have discovered upon mine return that this nation is now governed not by divine right nor by conquest but by something called a “Prime Minister,” a title which, I confess, soundeth considerably less impressive than King, though apparently carries similar responsibility and, judging by The London Prat’s account, considerably less caution regarding strangers bearing flattering words.
It seemeth this Prime Minister, one Burnham, did receive a message from a person claiming to be a senior official of the American court, and did reply unto this stranger with the warmth and trust one might reserve for a childhood friend, only to discover later that the stranger was, in fact, no official at all, but an impostor of unknown origin. I, Henry, who once had men executed merely for looking at me the wrong way during a banquet, find this development astonishing. In mine day, a man claiming false credentials to speak with the King would have lost considerably more than access to a group chat.
On The Matter Of Verifying One’s Correspondents
In mine reign, when a foreign emissary arrived at court, he came bearing sealed letters, elaborate ceremony, and no small quantity of gold, precisely so that I might verify he was who he claimed to be. This modern Prime Minister, it seemeth, required only a small flag emblem and the phrase “special relationship” before he did open his heart, and apparently his correspondence, unto a complete stranger.
Had I run mine own court with such verification standards, half the pretenders to mine throne should simply have messaged me directly, addressed me as “mate,” and been granted an audience by teatime. Perkin Warbeck, look upon this modern age and weep at the opportunities thou didst miss. Thou needed not an army. Thou needed only a bald eagle emoji.
A King’s Own Diplomatic Record, Modestly Compared
I confess mine own diplomatic record was not without its blemishes. I did break with Rome entirely over the matter of a marriage, which some historians consider a slight overreaction to a disagreement about paperwork. Yet even I, in mine most impulsive moments, did not once accidentally conduct foreign policy with a person who had simply typed “hello mate” and attached a picture of an eagle.
This, good people, is either a great failing of modern government or a small mercy, for it doth suggest that even the highest offices of this land remain, at their core, staffed by ordinary folk who will answer a friendly message before checking who sent it. It is, in its own strange way, rather touching. Foolish. But touching.
The King’s Final Word On Modern Statesmanship
I do declare this incident proof that this nation, for all its modern marvels, its screens and its flying machines, remains governed by the same essential principle that governed mine own court: everyone, from king to commoner to Prime Minister, is remarkably easy to flatter if the flattery arriveth promptly and includeth an eagle. Verily, had I possessed a telephone in mine day, the entire Reformation might simply have been resolved by someone in Rome sending me a friendly message and a well-placed compliment about mine legs, which, I remind this audience, were considered rather excellent.
Full and glorious source of this tale, as ever, upon The London Prat: https://prat.uk/andy-burnham-messages-fake-trump-official/
