As my many millions of loyal fans will know, I have spent the whole of September on a colonial tour of Africa. After becoming rather bored in August I decided to spend September touring Africa engaging in the many absorbing activities the ‘Dark Continent’ has to offer, such as shooting lions and elephants, and mounting the delicious women this part of the world has to offer. I embarked on this Grand African Tour accompanied by my best chum and fellow Old Etonian, Lord Rathborne. Rathborne and I have visited many parts of the world together. Our most infamous trip was in 1975, when we visited Italy and caused a diplomatic incident when our plan to kidnap the Pope and take him to a brothel backfired spectacularly (in a rather publicly drunken fashion). But that is a story for another time. I also decided to take my Director of Security Jack Coleridge and my Head Bodyguard Victor with me, for protection and potential use as human shields in the event of a terrorist attack. I had also decided it was time to show Victor that going away for two weeks to Tenerife to drink cheap lager and fight other English peasants and Spanish taxi drivers does not constitute “travelling the world” as he often claims.
When we arrived at our first destination in Uganda, I was delighted to be in such an exotic place, away from the nightmare Britain has become. Modern Britain is a cesspit, infested with foreigners and governed by the agenda of the crude and vile proletariat, with their love of soccer, disgusting fast food and brutal street brawling. Even the Prime Minister, with his impeccable breeding and admirable exploits in the Bullingdon Club at Oxford has to govern in a left wing fashion and pretend he supports soccer, such is the moral degradation of our glorious country. A man of empire such as myself feels much more at home in Africa, where the colonial spirit of imperial Britain still exists.
During my first few weeks, I engaged in all the activities the African colonies have to offer. I went hunting, shooting the largest and fastest animals known to man. I gambled, I drank profusely, and of course I mounted the domestic colony girls with such ferocity I was admitted to hospital with exhaustion. Lord Rathborne also engaged in these activities, and mysteriously went missing for a week. Jack Coleridge eventually tracked him down to a remote Ugandan village, where he was found in a house with several hermaphrodites. He claimed he didn’t know they were freaks of nature, and he was so drunk I was quite willing to believe him. After I left hospital and returned to the hunting estate I was renting, I was greeted by an old chum of mine from Oxford. He had read a newspaper report in Kenya, where he was now running a nature reserve, about a “British Knight and a Lord” who were causing mayhem and “acting like white devils” in Uganda and guessed it was myself and Rathborne. Charles Hever was a very good chum of mine at Oxford. We got on well and had a mutual love of gambling and mounting. At Oxford he spoke optimistically of a career in politics, with his ambition to re-establish the military might of the British Empire, so disgracefully neglected by the Labour lot. But shortly before graduation he suddenly became a “conservationist”, and went off to Africa to help preserve endangered animals (which I considered to be the behaviour of an anal lunatic). Charles invited us to stay with him at his reserve near Nairobi, and after hearing he had an unmarried nineteen year old daughter, I simply could not decline the invitation.
Shortly after we arrived at the nature reserve, we were introduced to the Hever family. Charles’ wife was not much to look at, but his daughter was absolutely captivating. With her long brown hair, slim toned body, and impressive bust I decided there and then I would enjoy a passionate affair with her. I don’t remember her name, but I was certain that I fell in love with her from the first moment I gazed upon her beautiful hazel eyes (and impressive bust). We were shown to our quarters and some servants took our belongings and unpacked them. We rested for a while, and then attended lunch in the main house. The whole thing was rather boring and I wondered whether there was come cricket or rugby I could be watching on a television. Before long I noticed the servants were in quite a commotion. One of the servants whispered in Charles’ ear, and he looked shocked. He stood up and announced that the BBC were reporting a terrorist attack was under way in the Westgate Shopping Mall in Nairobi. I knew straight away that I would have to take command of the operation to defeat the terrorists, and that the native Kenyan army would be useless and incompetent. As a senior representative of the British Empire, it was my duty to act to defeat an attack taking place in our colony. I explained the situation to Jack Coleridge, and as former SAS men we knew that time was of the essence, so we mobilised immediately with weapons and vehicles provided by the gamekeeper of the reserve. We made our way to the scene, ready for the mission at hand, but with me feeling rather disappointed that I would miss out on mounting Charles’ daughter.
When we arrived at the scene the Kenyans were a shambles. The army were standing around doing less work than a bunch of plebs on a Sheffield council estate. I approached the nearest unit commander and explained I was Sir Peter Maxwell, Knight of the British Empire and former SAS General. He looked rather confused by the events at hand, but when Jack and I explained how we had almost single handedly won the Gulf War in 1991, he was keen for me to take a charge of the operation. He offered the use of his troops but quite frankly I knew they would be useless. I knew that I would have to personally take on the terrorists (ably assisted by Jack Coleridge). Jack and I entered the mall armed with AK47s, and all the memories of Iraq came flooding back. The daring ambushes, the burning oil fields, and Jack Coleridge decapitating Saddam’s nuclear scientists after they surrendered. We began shooting and brought down five or six terrorists. After securing one section of the mall, I encountered an injured terrorist writhing in agony on the floor. To my amazement, he began begging me for help in an East London accent. He was clearly one of these silly little plebs who think going on a Jihad is like a trip to Butlins. I had no time for talking and left him to think about what he had done. The terrorists had retreated to the back of the mall and after rescuing some hostages, we made a tactical retreat back outside. Full of adrenalin from our heroic actions, I spotted an African TV reporter who was quite simply the most beautiful colony girl I have ever seen. I dusted myself off and introduced myself. She was amazed at my exploits, and put me live on air to her TV audience back in her homeland of Tanzania. I talked for forty five minutes about my bravery, and the reporter was lapping it up with glee. After the interview had concluded I asked her name. “Grace Kimbasa, I am the top TV reporter in Tanzania”, she boasted. “How would you like to be my next wife”, I confidently enquired. “I would be honoured to be married to such a handsome and heroic man such as yourself”, came her entirely expected reply. We checked in to a local hotel and had a passionate mounting session which lasted for approximately nine hours. The next day we both returned to Charles’ reserve where I announced my intention to marry Grace. Charles was shocked, but pleased for me. I was so in love with Grace I didn’t even attempt to seduce Charles’ daughter that evening.
I have left Grace in Kenya for the moment, while I arrange the wedding here in Gloucestershire. There is also the minor detail of divorcing my current wife, but I am confident she will accept a quick and generous settlement since she was a wife I ordered on the Internet only four years ago. I am feeling very optimistic about the future, and can’t wait to bring Grace over and make her my new wife. Meanwhile, I haven’t abandoned my pursuit of the delightful Alexandra Curry, and will work on seducing her in the next few weeks.
For England and Saint George!
SIR PETER MAXWELL