The joyful entry of a royal envoy disrupted their quiet, tranquility, and respective styles of focus. 

You could be forgiven for thinking he'd arrived over 200 years early for a "Robin Hood – Men In Tights" audition.

The tightly clothed messenger paused in front of the King, unsure whether to bow or curtsy. It was unclear if this was due to his own sexual insecurity or the fact that he had been out of the country for so long that he had forgotten the finer points of British court life. He knelt. "Your Highness," he exclaimed, panting. "I've received distressing news from the Americas."

For a brief period, the King appeared perplexed, but Prince George put down his Game Boy and began to pay attentively. Last but not least, the King said:

"Do you mean the Americas?" "Does that happen to be one of my domains?"

"It is the thirteen American colonies, your Highness."

"Aah," the King said, "I've had difficulties remembering them all since I passed the 100 mark."

"The news is bad," the messenger said. "It appears that a mysterious sickness, possibly a virus, has afflicted the entire community." Your Highness, it has had a horrible effect. Their voice chords have been harmed. "The entire population is impacted."

"What's the big deal about that?" "Do they not have a doctor over there?" the King inquired, as though from another universe.

"Your Majesty. They are no longer able to communicate in the King's English. They've all begun speaking with a peculiar accent, and the King's English has become warped. They sound as if they're from another planet. The virus is quite dangerous.