Oh gods no. My son is also dating a republican. It's just nuts. Here I am, Colonel Sir Bufton Tufton MBE, and my son, young Robbie MacTavish-Warner - well, I say son, more like one of my many by-blows from when I was tomcatting round the Empire in my younger days, dontchano - has taken up with this rather radical young lassie called Kathleen. Quite a looker if I do say so myself. If I were twenty years younger - excuse me, my dear - well, yes, ahem, sorry. But despite all this, she's filling his head with all this nonsense about how we ought to have a President and all that. Oh come now, if we're going to have a President then we might as well be Americans, and we can't have that, oh no, coming into our wars two to three years late and stealing all the credit... *takes a huge belt from a convenient bottle of port*
*BELCH*
Oh, sorry, dearest, it's the port, it always makes me a bit gassy. Still, damn fool notions about how Her Majesty (long may she reign!) should pay tax like the rest of us and sell Buck House to be redeveloped into yuppie flats for those dreadful City bankers who flushed the Tufton family fortune down the convenience with their Icelandic banks.
*snifter of brandy*
*BELCH*
Still, could be worse. At least she's not French. That really would be the end. Did all those men die on the battlefields of Agincourt for nothing. Speaking of which, my family can trace its roots all the way back to Charles de Beaufort, 1st Earl of Haringey, who was born to one of Henry V's chambermaids. Isn't that right, dear?
Dear?
Yes, well, I quite agree it's dreadful and unacceptable. We've got to do something about this treasonous harlot. Pity we can't just have her beheaded any more, isn't it.
*Here the Colonel falls into incomprehensible mumbling and then passes out.*