The king finished scrutinising his appearance in the full length mirror with a satisfying ‘gurgle’.
His royal tailor had done an altogether splendid job of ‘ironing out’ the few minor discrepancies of attire which had been picked up at the first fitting…
It was, decided the king, now perfect!
All that remained to be done… was to wait.
The crowds were already pouring into the capital from all four corners of the realm.
The minstrels and street entertainers had been plying their trade since before the early hours.
The advance guard of flag wavers would soon be pressing their features to the railings which surrounded the royal palace.
‘They enjoy waiting’, thought the king, ‘it adds to the suspense. Even in the rain, and one ought really to be fully rested before such an event. One should take a little nap. It would hardly matter if one overslept. One would not want to be early after all.’
So, as the subjects of his realm were readied for his illustrious arrival, the king slept.
And slept on…
The king was awoken from his slumber by a frenzied knocking on the heavy oak door of his dressing room.
A hideous dream he had experienced, about wily weavers, and a hard to fool child.
He caught a glimpse of his own form in the mirror as he rushed to the door to open it, and that glimpse confirmed his nightmare.
As the door was flung open the palace butler looked at the royal features aghast.
“Call the guards,” said the king, “someone has stolen my dress suit!”