I think my chaplain is jealous of me. He prides himself on being a fine orator, able to give a pithy sermon. Two years ago he was invited up to court to dispute certain theological matters before Her Majesty the Queen. I forget the details – something about the existence of angels.

A venerable bishop began the debate and did quite well. He kept me awake for at least five minutes. Apparently, the old boy chattered on for an hour. I awoke just as he left the pulpit then it was my chaplain's turn.

I was sitting next to Elizabeth. I nudged her and declared in a loud stage whisper for all to hear, 'Here comes counsel for the other side.' A subtle joke, only the Queen and I realised its true significance, and she couldn't stop laughing. My chaplain gave his oration whilst the rest of his brother clerics just glared at me. When it was all finished, some elderly, snivelling bishop came over to me.

'It's easy to mock, Sir Roger,' he cried. 'But could you give a sermon?' Well, you know old Shallot, in for a penny in for a pound! 'Of course I could!' I cried.

Her Majesty caught my eye, nodded, and the court reassembled. I was helped into the high pulpit. (I had drunk a little too much claret.) I leaned against the wooden rail and gazed blearily around.

'My text,' I began, 'is: Don't do to others as ye would have others do to you. After all, they may not like what you do to yourself.'

Well, gales of laughter greeted this. Up springs the red-nosed bishop who had sunk as much claret as I had.

'A proper sermon!' he screamed. 'Do not mock us, Sir Roger!'

Elizabeth nodded her red-wigged head and commanded me to continue. 'One with a moral!' a bishop shouted out.