It is with great regret that the Revolutionary Junta announce the voluntary relinquishing of position by that powerhouse of perambulation and latter-day Boudicca, the Grand Marshal. The recent media portrayal of our beloved Marshal as a power-hungry cake-crazed tyrant has proven too much for our noble Marshal who has never wanted anything but to serve the members of the Perambulation Club. The Marshal’s remorseless quest for high-quality cheese has enriched our society in so many ways, not least with the discovery that rubbery pub cheddar is ideal for force-feeding geese, as well as aiding their buoyancy.
However, following the recent anarchic demonstrations among the rowdier sumo wrestlers, the Grand Marshal has decided to step down. The Grand Marshal’s controversial and almost entirely counterproductive ‘kettling’ technique to contain the hooligan sumo in Blacknest Car Park has led to a media frenzy that we are just not equipped to deal with.
Furthermore, The Grand Marshal maintains that the Battenberg Allocation Programme, held by many to be at the root cause of many Sumo complaints, is neither corrupt nor inefficient. One need only see the amount of pink and yellow crumbs that cascade out of a sumo nappy on Changing Day to appreciate the force of the Marshal’s argument.
Neither is it true that the Grand Marshal has been cutting the Battenberg with lesser cakes in order to increase profits. The Marshal’s Battenberg is Grade ‘A’ Colombian Battenberg, and we have the rosettes to prove it. Would Lady Annabel Goldsmith endorse it otherwise as the main staple foodstuff for her flying monkeys? Would Chaka Demus & Pliers have permanently dyed themselves pink and yellow if they weren’t committed to the Battenberg? Actually, they probably wouldn’t if they’d read the instructions on the dye properly, but that is to miss the point.
The United Nations, as always puppets controlled by the far-reaching talons and limitless resources of Richard Hills and the Old Windsor Townswomen’s Guild, have massively over-reacted to our little local difficulty by declaring a no-fly zone over the park. The flying monkeys have been grounded, Lady Annabel Goldsmith is distraught and whacked out on French Martinis, and sumo are running amok and akimbo. The repair bill for potholes may cause the Royal Wedding to be cancelled to save funds. We hope those good friends of the club, Wills & Kate, can forgive us.
The situation, although not of our making, is untenable. Regime change is demanded by those lickspittles and toadies at the UN. As a consequence, The Grand Marshal, the scourge of Zombies and peerless Chief Musketeer, is selflessly going into exile to save the club. Asylum has been granted by the chap that looks after the wheely-bins round the back of the YMCA in Staines, and the Grand Marshal will be moving in with an honour guard of hand-picked, loyal tramps from 4th May. Observant Club Members will of course recognise the date as the anniversary of our glorious declaration of independence for the citizens, badgers, monocled stoats, fat geese, itinerant alcoholics, sumo wrestlers, flying monkeys, and B-list celebrities of Virginia Water.
No new Grand Marshal will be appointed, as they are boots that cannot be filled. Not least due to the irreparable damage caused to the ceremonial ferret-skin boots by the Marshal’s cankles. We’ll never get our money back from TK Maxx for them now.
On 4th May, the force-fed geese will be unshackled, the tramps will wear black cotton gloves, the clocks stopped and the pianos silenced.
La Maréchal grandiose est fini. Vive la Maréchal grandiose!
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