Monty’s the name, lording is the game. Which, to be honest, is a little troublesome if you don’t have the title of ‘Lord’. I’m rich, sure. But due to an upsetting incident in 1951, in which my father accidentally hit Winston Churchill in the corkers with a croquet mallet, he wasn’t given the title he’d been promised. It was all wrong and if Churchill hadn’t been so much of a bloody hero, the papers would have been all over the fact he took a large amount of money from my father to fund his last political campaign. All this meant that there was no title to come to me with the house and land in my inheritance. My father never got over the fact that he was to die like a normal man; we told everyone we were Lords. In fact the Sheptons have been telling people that for centuries, and until that fateful game of croquet, we were in line to be actual Lords. Father said he’d even been promised his own sword, too, so it was a double loss for him. Me? I’ve got my gamekeeper, Chopper, so I don’t need a sword. Any trouble, I just point him at it and let him off his lead. Metaphorical lead, that is. You’re not allowed to keep your own staff tied up in this day and age.
As I said, I’ve got it all; heirlooms from the ages, most touched or owned by people of substance. My gamekeeper, Chopper, is always getting his hands on things to add to the collection. I’ve a feeling he’s a very good cat burglar and when we get back from a shoot somewhere he’ll always produce something that I know not to ask questions about. I pay him well for it and add to the family collection of antiques and relics. This title really was the only thing that was missing from my life.
So once this wondrous thing called the Internet came out, I finally ended the age-old family tradition of getting ripped off by people who claimed they could sell us a title. I found this little beauty and can you believe the price! Under fifty new pounds — to be a Lord!
I purchased it in no time. Apparently all you do is purchase a square centimetre of land in Scotland and under law you’re allowed to call yourself a Lord. Brilliant. I got straight on the phone and bought a square mile. It means I’ve bought all the other centimetres that people have bought from this company and that they can’t now call themselves Lords, but then it shouldn’t be the case that anyone with fifty pounds can do it. You should have years of wealth in your bloodline, land, cattle, a gamekeeper. So not only I am Lord of my own manor in the village where I live (I won’t name it as there are more than a hundred ex Lords and Ladies that would quite like to know where I live at the moment), I’m also a living Lord in Scotland. I’m considering sending Chopper up there and seeing if he can pull a band of men together to build me a castle. Although I think castles are quite expensive these days and I don’t want to have to sell any of the artwork, so it might be a project for a couple of years’ time.
Being rich, I also opted for the cufflinks with the family coat of arms. We’ve had our coat of arms since Nelson drew them on a scrap of paper (before he lost his drawing arm) in whatever year it was Nelson lived. Just another little bit of background to my story and how, if you are one of the people who have lost your title, you should really feel grateful that someone from such good stock as me now holds it.
So if you’re reading this and you are one of those people, all I can say is I’m sorry. I don’t mean it, but I’m sure you understand that I’m better than you and deserve it more. Let’s face it, you were probably punching well above your weight by calling yourself a Lord in the first place.
I will tell you, though, it feels great to be an actual Lord rather than a fat old fraud.