Somewhat belatedly, here's Roger Mortimer's take on the 'Me Too' meme. And to redress the balance of posting a photo of sexy Andy Gillet as Hugh Despenser in Les Rois Maudits, here's a photo of the less pretty but very hunky Bruno Todeschini, who played Roger in the same series. (Which Blogger won't let me post here, for some reason.)
I am: the de facto king of England. The earl of March. The man who saved England from that pathetic king and his catamite.
I want: to go and look at Despenser's head on London Bridge again. Just one more time - this week....
I wish: Despenser's death could have been drawn out a little longer.
I hate: Henry, the earl of Lancaster. Now, if I could only devise some way of getting rid of him...
I miss: my uncle Roger Mortimer of Chirk. That bastard Despenser had him killed in the Tower. Still, at least I got the opportunity to disinherit his son and grandson, and take over his lands myself.
I fear: that the young king will find out what really happened to his father...
I hear: rumours that Lancaster, Kent and Norfolk are planning a rebellion against me. Ha!
I wonder: if that fool Kent will dare to try to rescue his brother, the pathetic ex-king?
I regret: that peace treaty with Scotland. Now everyone will think I'm militarily incompetent.
I am not: going to take any criticism. Whatsoever.
I dance: at my daughters' weddings. I'm marrying them off to all the important earls and peers of the realm, you know. Two of them are getting married today - now, which ones is it again? Catherine? No, she got married last month. Beatrice? Blanche? I'm almost sure Agnes is one of them. Joan! Who's getting married today?
I sing: lovely duets with Queen Isabella, my mistress.
I cry: with laughter every time I think of the younger Despenser dancing on the gallows. And the elder one, come to think of it.
I am not always: going to be merely earl of March.
I made: love with the queen of England all over Paris.
I confuse: my eight daughters. See above.
I need: more lands. What do you mean, I'm worse than the Despensers?
I should: really not stand every time that boy comes into the room. Yes, I know he's the king of England, but he's only fifteen! And ask yourself, who's the real king of England round here?
I start: to imagine the crown of England on my head.
I finish: as king of England? Maybe...who knows? The lives of fifteen-year-olds can be very precarious...