Dog Days

It's ferociously hot and Blue Monarchist leads the way, Edgehill's another day. But what about Naseby and Marston Moor I ask him, incredulously. 

By way of answer he sits with loyal expectancy and asks for a treat, as though that, somehow, will stop the New Model Army and advance the last gasp of chivalry. Fond imagining, but he gets one anyway.

Quarter Master over, we went out back with a good view to capturing Banbury, Reading, Oxford, and Bristol. Quite the campaign and devil take the hindmost. Charge and scatter the enemy to the winds!

Needless, Blue No Bishop No King got stuck into the Anabaptist provisions and ate my sister's dog's toy. Typical cavalier ill-discipline, raid the enemy's baggage train in the exuberance of the after-charge. And lose the war. Good work, furhead.

Chagrined, Blue Divine Right Of Kings went prowling in search of Trained Bands to destroy and defeat. Perhaps they were hiding in the cover, in a psalm-singing fit of millenarian expectancy. Good luck with that, Blue Old Service is prowling, seeking whom he may devour.

Not least the advance scouts of the enemy, Chimney Swifts. They're protected by Law, no thanks to Edwardus Coke, and doubly by a sheet of cardboard. Undaunted by pettifogging legal skulduggery, Blue Loyalist stands guard.

As did I, when I could stand. But seriously, as a loyal Son of the Crown and an irregular cavalryman to boot, let's see a bit more Divine Right of Kings and less Satanic Rule of the New World Order.

Vivat,

LSP