Never reaching the end ...

After Miss Sixty’s horrible experience this morning with brain-dead morons who were a prime example of the advantages of post-natal abortion, we agreed she required the services of a Knight in Shining Armour. These seem to be few and far between nowadays, and must, if truth be told, be very noisy to have around, what with all that clanking. Plus of course you would need somewhere to stable the vital steed.

So although Knights in Shining Armour sound very romantic they don’t conjure up quite the image I get when I hear that famous song “Knights in White Satin”. Yes, yes I know that’s not the real title, but I was young and innocent when I first heard it, all right? Despite the passing of years and experiences, I still can’t rid myself of the vision of a mediaeval hall, lit by a few guttering rushlights and with a blazing fire on the central hearth and wolfhounds lying quietly in the shadows. Then a clattering of hooves heralds the arrival of the knights, who enter the Hall, removing their helms and shaking off the rain. Their esquires hurry to remove their sodden surcoats and armour, to reveal the padded white satin garments worn beneath. The ladies hasten with food and wine to welcome their lords back to the safety of the castle ...