[Is come in the Sequel

[Years is pass and harmony is reign in Land
All peoples is nice and happy and is pleasant shopping facilities and plenty plenty parking spaces

[We is open in Breakfast Room of Palace isn't it

The KING (he says): Well! Another fine day in Land. Boy I is good kingy or what?

It sing:

Bluebird is on the tree, hurrah!
Fishies is in the sea, hurrah!
I is happy like the hippo
I could dances like a gyppo
'Cause tramps like us
Baby we were born to run

(It stop sing and attend to nosh. To Priesty):

M'dear fellow, pray pass the marmalade

The PRIEST (all amiable like): M'dear fellow, I is delighted! In old days I would used it to bargain for leverage or mail it to Timbuktu out of sheer spite, but now I is reformed character I is pass you the marmalade pretty damn quick and no shilly-shallying and get strange kick out of being helpful. Can this it be manhood?

The KING: M'dear fellow, I is much oblige. How may I make return?

The PRIEST: M'dear fellow, you could pass me the WEETABIX

The KING: Mmm, WEETABIX! M'dear fellow, I is be thrilled to grant favour and yet sad to say mine reach exceed grasp. Perhaps the SARAH might oblige both of us. M'dear reformed whore, the WEETABIX is with you - pray pass it along chop chop if at all convenient

The SARAH (all pious like) M'dear man, how can I other? (Is pass) In old days confronted with such polite request I would merely have cackles lasciviously and swung naked from the fixtures inviting all to jigajig, or at best passed the WEETABIX via mine naughty girly-boobies, but now sees ye how I pass him with solid-silver serving-tongs like proper lady and no slagging about nor nothing

The KING: M'dear woman, cheers. If I can gratify in return ye have only to ask, yea, even up to half my kingdom

The SARAH: BRING ME THE HEAD OF JIM THE BAPTIST. Sorry, force of habit. I mean, chuck us the butter, deary

(Is come in The JUDITH and the RAIMONDO at head of mighty army of childrens named: The SID, the HARRY, the LORREN, the CARSTAIRS, the LUCIUS FLAVIUS OCTOPUS, the other SID and the LITTLE DIMPLE-CHEEKED WEETABIXIA)

ALL (various cries, at similar time): Hurray! Is family! Is breakfast! Is morning! We is happy! Is that toast I see? Yes, that is toast, since you ask, &c

The l.d-c.WEETABIXIA (all cute like): Oo give me piggy-back plenty damn quick Gwandpa Pwiesty

The PRIEST: Of course, m'dimple-cheeked little bundle of winsome. (Musingly, to own self) See how fondly I is gambol with the child all innocent-like and never think to kidnap it in abstruse power-play or drop it in sepulchre or mail it to Timbuktu out of sheer irritability and jealousy of dimples. Can this it be manhood? I not even stab it nor nothing

The as above WEETABIXIA (it is singing and chanting)

O Grandpa
You smell a bit
Of cough sweets
And nameless damp things mouldering in dark closets
Opening doorways in my mind better left forgotten
Weasel words scratching at the floorboards of the world
Like playing in the sea, in the sea of possibility
Horses, horses, horses, horses
The boy looked at Johnny, yeah
No one, not even the rain, has such hairy ears

The PRIEST: It is quite the infant prodigy. But to business. Has you consider my plan to rebuild temple?

The KING: I has delegate my heir the RAIMONDO and his several charming and variously-named children to draw up feasibility study hasn't I

The RAIMONDO: Here is. (him pass dossier made in OpenOffice and crayon).

The PRIEST (him peruse) Grouting... chipboard... big fuck-off pieces of stone... formica... FORMICA? FOR shame! I say you, this shalt not be no ordinary temple, for I has a dream

ALL (is sing and clap and sway a bit)

Any dream will do

The KING: Speak of this dream, then, that does not involve tabernacles of formica & chipboard

The PRIEST: I conceive to build a mighty temple made out of WEETABIX!

ALL (is gasp): WEETABIX! Mmm.

The KING: It shalt be done! With such a temple I would be the envy of the world and mine fame shouldst endure a million billion years! Aye, a fuck-off big ziggurat of WEETABIX stretching to the very heavens - why the gods themselves would look studiedly unimpressed and make bitchy remarks in their jealousy

(Is sound the clap of THUNDER!

VOICE (from dungeon):

Woe is!
What bring to this!
Unhappy man, is hubris!
WEETABIX is be the servant of no man, and he that seek to use she for his own vainglory shalt be smitten in thy vitals!
Hark me well, Mr. the KING:
Thy house shall divide against thy - all shall strive and contend - where thy sow water-melons cress shall spring up - thy own right hand shall flick thee on the nose - thy gander shall fly into power-lines and thy wasps lose their savour - plagues shall come upon ye ten by ten -
I think. Maybe. But what do I know? Just thinking aloud, really, forget I spoke

The JUDITH: (says)

The Jim the Baptist! Who can stand against his passive-aggressive humility

The KING: Pah! What can the all-powerful gods do against we? There are only ten of them and fuckloads of us

The WEETABIXIA (is point to sore on arm) Look, Mummy - a bubo! Amn't I clever?

(It is puke and keel over

ALL: the Oh no! Is come in the Plague!


The KING: Bugger it, fuse have blown, it never rain but it pour

{it continue!