Albion's Perfidy

We stand on the white cliff edge,

the stalwarts of Avalonia,

staring across the strait and narrow water

at Armorica.

We believe our own myths,

believe in the power of woad

-not words.

Britons, proud and free

from any perspective

but our own.

Britons:

caterwauling Catuvellauni,

iresome Icenii,

bragging Breganti:

pure of heart and intent.

Shh… do not mention

Obtuse Angles,

Selfish Saxons,

Jealous Jutes

Vicious Vikings

and those Faux French

the Normans.

All these are we,

a mongrel breed,

howling at the moon

of racial impurity.

As we head, perhaps,

into our chequer-ed future,

we will sharpen our tongues

and call it banter

- though this sense of tumour

has made us the sick man

of this still new

- yet crumbling - empire.