The Archbishop of Canterbury on... top punk monarchist Nick cocking Cave

WAKING in a cell at Scotland Yard, under armed guard and being ordered to reliquish the neck of a broken bottle in my hand, I recall what led me here. 

Rehearsing for tomorrow’s ceremony in Westminster Abbey, I delivered a reading from Ezekiel 37. “One Kingdom, one King,” I orated.

“David, my servant shall be king over them, and they shall all have one shepherd; they shall also walk in My judgments and observe My statutes, and do them,” I continued, upon which officers of the Metropolitan Police thundered up the aisle, manhandled me from the pulpit and placed me under arrest.

“For fucking what?” I asked, reasonably, taking a swig from a bottle of rum I keep by my side for fortification.

“For open treason and declaration of intent to usurp King Charles III and replace him with one of your staff, this ‘David’, no doubt with a view to operating as the power beyond the throne.”

“It’s fucking Ezekiel!” I said.

“Ezekiel? Who’s he?”

“The bible, you gormless cunt!” I said, rather intemperately, raising my bottle arm and from there it is a blur. A swift call to the King and I graciously accept the abject apologies of the Met, a waiver of their discretionary anti-monarchist powers as relating to myself, and reimbursement for the bottle their officer’s head was clumsy enough to break.

Returning to the Abbey, I read that local council elections have gone poorly for the Conservatives, with chairman Greg Hands blaming Vladimir Putin and the spike in energy prices following his invasion of Ukraine.

Torment my tits with a soldering iron, are you fucking shitting us? The spike in energy prices, incidentally, that no other fucker in Europe suffered except us mugs? Why not blame Lenin for starting the Soviet revolution that set in train the chain of events that saw you lose every fucking seat going in the blue wall? Or blame the dogs outside every polling station for scaring nervous Tory voters away? Or, how about blaming your fucking selves for being a robbing, cheating, lying, racist, criminal and criminally incompetent, corrupt, clueless, rancid bunch of pigfuckers who the country can’t wait to see the back of?

Nick Cave, of The Birthday Party, has justified his intention to attend the coronation. He writes: ‘What I am also not is so spectacularly incurious about the world and the way it works, so ideologically captured, so damn grouchy, as to refuse an invitation to what will more than likely be the most important historical event in the UK of our age,’ adding that the Queen was ‘the most charismatic woman I have ever met. Maybe it was the lighting but she actually glowed.’

Jesus upside down on the cross for a fucking laugh, you fraudulent, lanky, greasy streak of flatulent verbosity, you’ve outed yourself as the absolute cock we suspected you were for years! Turns out you’re the Goth Nicholas Witchell! ‘The most important historical event in the UK of our age’ my arse, no cunt’s interested and I say that as a principal fucking player in events! Netflix will have a field day! As for the Queen, I met her a shitload and she had as much charisma as a halibut on an ice slab!

Noted historian Dr David Starkey has suggested that Prime Minister Rishi Sunak is ‘not fully grounded in our culture’ in a TV interview.

Well sure, he’s not grounded in our culture of wearing seat belts, giving a shit about other humans, paying tax, wearing trousers that actually reach your shoes, or matching statements about reality with actual fucking reality but that’s not what you meant, is it, Starkey? Senile, racist prick!

Finally, tomorrow’s coronation will feature a ‘homage of the people’ in which subjects will be invited to proclaim:  ‘All who so desire, in the Abbey, and elsewhere, say together: I swear that I will pay true allegiance to Your Majesty, and to your heirs and successors according to law. So help me God.’

Holy fragments of the True Cock set into a Cock of Wales, they’re seriously gonna do this? What the fuck? Yes, I suggested it but only as a fucking joke! And that ruddy-faced, wheezy divot Charles gives it the nod! Tell you what, I’m fucked if I’m going to join in unless I’m seriously fucking pissed, and even then it’ll be in the spirit of Sid Vicious singing My Way! What is this, fucking 1322? Saxe-Coburg twats!

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'This is King Charles, just calling to say you won't be needed at the Coronation.' 'I know it’s you, Boris,' I reply

THE call comes from his mobile number. He doesn’t bother to disguise his voice. And still he’s surprised to be called on his lie. 

‘Prince, sorry King Charles here,’ he says, sounding entirely like Boris. ‘Just a quick call to say you won’t be needed on Saturday after all, so if you can have your tickets ready I’ll send a courier round.’

‘I know it’s you, Boris,’ I reply. ‘It’s not Boris,’ Boris says. ‘You’re calling from Boris’s phone,’ I say. ‘And?’ he says. ‘And you’re Boris,’ I say. ‘Fuck,’ he says.

‘What are you after tickets for? You and Carrie are already invited,’ I say, perplexed. ‘Well two reasons,’ he says, the pretence dropped but still resenting that I lacked the good grace to play along.

‘First, you shouldn’t be there and nor should bloody Truss. Makes me look less important when I’m two prime ministers back. Puts me only two away from Brown, and he was a total loser who got kicked out after barely three years.’ I say nothing.

‘Second, I’ve promised a few oligarchs I can get them in. Not all Russian – one Qatari and a US cryptocurrency bro. Thought my sheer charisma would swing it, but everyone’s acting like the guest list is sacrosanct. I can’t even get fucking Meghan’s ticket.’

‘This is the first coronation in 70 years,’ I say. ‘You can’t just turn up with a load of mates and talk your way past the door staff. There are snipers on every roof.’

‘Yes, but when I say promised I mean, you know, promised. Trousered the cash. Spent it,’ he admits. ‘So I need four tickets chop-bloody-chop.’

‘What?’ I say, outraged for His Majesty. ‘There’s no way you can march in there with four uninvited strangers.’ ‘Six,’ he says, ‘but I’ve picked up two extra tickets already. Theresa fell for it.’