His Majesty returns from the grave to the comedy clubs of London and discovers that the realm’s true executioner is the lunchtime meal deal
His Majesty Taketh The Stage
Good evening, good people of London! Pray, be seated. Nay, not thou, sirrah in the front row, thou art already seated, and upon my soul thou art seated upon my favourite stool. I shall allow it. I am in a merciful humour tonight. I have been dead near five hundred years and I find death hath mellowed me most wondrously. I have beheaded no one since Tuesday.
Now. I have returned to this, my kingdom, and I have walked its streets, and I must tell thee of the greatest horror I have witnessed since the Pilgrimage of Grace. I went into a shop in the City for my luncheon. A modest luncheon. I sought not a swan. I sought not a boar’s head with an apple in its mouth. I sought a sandwich. Two pieces of bread with a thing betwixt them. And the wench at the counter said unto me, that shall be fourteen pounds, sire.
FOURTEEN POUNDS! For bread! In my day, for fourteen pounds, I could purchase a manor in Kent, three sheep and a minor bishop. And the bishop would say grace over the sandwich for free.
The Prat Hath Seen It Too
And lo, I am not alone in this outrage, for the London Prat hath written of it, in their most learned report upon London, the city that charges fourteen pounds for a sandwich and gets away with it. Gets away with it! Mark that phrase! In my reign, nobody got away with anything. Ask my wives. Ask two of them, anyway. The others are not taking questions.
And what was in this sandwich, you ask? Thou dost not ask, but I shall tell thee regardless, for I am King. It was described as artisan sourdough with heritage tomato and burrata. Heritage tomato! The tomato hath a heritage? I have a heritage! I am the heritage! My father won a battle at Bosworth so that I might one day pay fourteen pounds for a tomato with a family tree!
Of Bread And Peasants
In my day, the peasants ate pottage. Thou knowest what pottage is? It is a pot. Of age. Whatever was in the pot, aged. Turnips, beans, a stray mutton bone, perhaps a small rat if Providence was generous. And it cost nothing, and the peasants were grateful, mostly because if they were not, I had them hanged. Simpler times.
But now I behold the young men of the City in their tight hose, which they call jeans, and their little bags of linen, and they queue, they QUEUE, for a sandwich that costeth more than a falcon. And they pay with a small glowing slab. They do not even touch the coin! They wave their slab at a box, the box goeth beep, and fourteen pounds vanish into the air like the Holy Ghost. I asked a young clerk whether it pained him. He said, it is fine, I expense it. I asked him what is expense. He said, the company pays. I said, and who payeth the company? He said, the customers. I said, and who are the customers? He said, people like me. And then his eyes went very sad and he ate his burrata in silence. That, good people, is economics.
A Royal Remedy
Now if I were still upon the throne, and make no mistake, I am considering a comeback, I would solve this matter in a single afternoon. I would summon every sandwich merchant in London to the Tower. I would sit upon a great chair. I would hold up a sandwich. And I would say: what is the price of this? And the merchant would say, fourteen pounds, sire. And I would say: try again. And he would say, twelve pounds? And I would look at the executioner. And the merchant would say, three pounds fifty and a free coffee, Your Majesty. And that, my friends, is how you control inflation. The Bank of England hath a committee. I had an axe. Mine was faster.
The Final Indignity
But the worst of it, the very worst, was at the end. I paid my fourteen pounds, I took my sandwich, and the slab asked me a question. It asked: would you like to add a tip? A TIP! For what service? The girl placed bread in a paper bag! I have had men knighted for less, but never tipped! I have dissolved monasteries for less! And the slab offered me choices. Ten percent, fifteen percent, twenty percent. I sought the option that said: none, and also thou art fortunate to keep thy head. It was not there. I must speak to Parliament.
Wisdom Of The Ages
So I leave thee with this counsel from thy sovereign. Bring thine own bread. Make thine own pottage. And if any merchant in this city chargeth thee fourteen pounds for a sandwich, look him in the eye, think of Henry, and say these words: off with thy prices. Thou hast been a wonderful audience. Mostly. Not thee, front row. I am watching thee. Goodnight, and God save the King. Which is me. Still.