A vision

A vision which amused me on the way home from Guildford yesterday evening. A diversion from all the young things dolled up for their evenings out.

A dark, mild evening. A vision of the assembled lords and commons, all thousand or so of them, in bare feet and dressed in white penitential gowns, rather in the way of white friars. Each hooded and each holding a long white candle, all lit and flickering in the still evening air. In solemn procession to Lord North Street, where they sank to their knees in front of the residence of past Prime Minister May, then busy with her cocoa. The speaker, in humble and suppliant tones, begged the past Prime Minister to resume charge of her flock and to lead them back to the promised land of the May Deal.

The young pretender (aka Johnson) was nowhere to be seen, but the old pretender (aka Corbyn) had been allowed to attend dressed up as the court jester in funny hat and parti-coloured clothes.

The past Prime Minister graciously resumed her duties by leading said assembled lords and commons in a solemn hymn of praise. And all was well in the best of all possible worlds. There was even the distant prospect of recalling R.Y. Britannia to the colours from her berth in Edinburgh.

PS: from where I associated to the scene in Richard III, when the good people of London beg him to take charge. Act.III, Sc.vii.

Reference 1: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2018/11/corbie-crow.html. From the remainer from Epsom.