Once upon a time, in a land far away, a land of which few had even heard, there lived a jester. Some people from other lands one day told this jester he was really a king.

They gave him all the things that a king has – billions of dollars, an army and audiences with the Great and the Good all over the World. They said he could be a great war leader and could have all the territory he could see from his castle, across the plains. All he needed to do to show he was a king was to defeat the evil king Vlad of the icy lands to the North. He would be given riches beyond compare to realise his dream if he could get his subjects to fight the good fight against the evil

This made the jester really believe he was a king.

One day, however, bad news came from a land far across the ocean, a land which had given the jester his crown and his riches. The old king of this land had lost his mind and had been replaced by a new king of the West. Old king Joe had wanted the black princess to succeed him – but the people revolted at the thought. She has a mind little better than yours, spoke the people of the West.

The new king, a ruthless man who had been cheated of his crown once before, wished to reorder his kingdom and replenish his treasury. He sent orders across the ocean for the jester, who thought he was a king, to come to his oval throne room. He had bad news for the Jester. The great king of the West had decided to stop his allowance, on which his kingship and kingdom depended.

The jester believed he would be ok in going to the throne room of the new great king of the West. Many men had told him he was a king too, and a very popular one at that. Had he not fought the evil king of the North and been a hero to the world? Was not the yellow and blue livery of his brave land adorning the battlements of his patrons?

When the jester was sat in the court of the great king of the West, he felt no fear. He did not even wear kingly robes, in the presence of the king of the West, so great was his star. 

Only a few days before, a king from the land of Albion which had once ruled over a mighty empire, had prostrated himself in front of the new king of the West, and paid homage to the king of kings. King Keir of Albion, a dour man of little personality, had been relieved to return to his land with his head still upon his shoulders.

But the jester learnt no lesson from this. He was a hero king after all!

When the great king of the West told the jester that he would have to make peace with the evil king of the North and surrender one quarter of his territory – or lose all his allowance – the jester was shocked. And the Prince goaded the jester from the side, eager to impress the great king, whose throne he hoped to sit upon one day.

But the Jester was a fool rather than a king and he could not read the signs that his downfall was decreed. He appeared ungrateful to the land that had given him all his riches and turned him from little jester to king. He did not want to lose his allowance, his kingdom and all his riches. 

The great king had staged it all. He wanted to show his great people that this jester was nothing and did not deserve his allowance and that it was all a fantasy, in which he lived. But the jester, told for long years how he was a hero king, really believed he was the equal of the great king of the West.

“Go you from my Palace, thou ungrateful clown!” shouted the great king of the West. “Be grateful you leave with your miserable head.” “Tell your people they must make peace with the great king of the North, who is no longer evil, and is verily a dear friend of mine!” 

The jester left, dazed and confused, for his land, hoping to find more soldiers. But in his heart he knew he was undone and his game was up.

Maybe he could get money from some little kings instead, he suddenly thought. Had not the little king of Albion, of no personality, arranged a great banquet of the little kings of Europa. These little kings, banded together, might replace all the riches of the great king of the West if they plundered their people of their livelihoods. Maybe they could even provide an army for the jester so that he could continue to be a king.

But alas he was dreaming! The people of Europa had become like Sodom and Gomorrah. They had gone into a long decline, become decadent and resembled a museum rather than the great lands of the past. And they had failed before when their great armies, clad in the swastika, rather than their new blue flag with the stars, had been taken into battle to the lands of the East.

So, the jester returned to his people and his lands, empty handed.

And they all lived happily ever after – except his poor people, of course.

Published in Irish Political Review March 2025