LONG LIVE THE KING!

The government was in crisis. With a very solemn look on his face, the Prime Minister glanced around at his cabinet.
"Good morning everybody," he began, unusually quietly. "Welcome to this emergency cabinet meeting."
The Prime Minister lowered his head respectfully before continuing. 
"As you will no doubt be aware, the Royal Family have all been wiped out." He paused, lifting his head to meet the gaze of each person gathered around the table. "We are assembled now to decide how we appoint a successor to the throne. Does anybody have any ideas?"
The leader of the Liberal Democrats began to open his mouth, but Cyril Burgess MP twatted him over the head with a briefcase, knocking him out.
"Thank you Cyril," said the Prime Minister. Then to the room in general, "Ideas, anybody?"
The cabinet debated for several hours. They made no progress whatsoever - at least, not until the Right Honourable Sir Charles Frottom-Twaddlebush MP made a suggestion.
"There's an old English legend," Frottom-Twaddlebush told the cabinet. "It concerns the village of Long Compton, in South Warwickshire. Some centuries ago, Long Compton was held to be the very centre of England. The legend states that whoever climbs the hill above the village - where the Rollright Stones stand - and gazes down upon the village, that person shall become the King of England."
The Prime Minister leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment. "Sounds simple enough," he said, drumming his fingers on the table. Then he leaned forward again, having come to a decision. "That is our solution, then."
The Prime Minister turned to stare directly at the Minister For Buggering Up Public Services And Turning The UK Into A Third World Country. "Derek. Mate. Pal. You don't seem to have much to do at the moment. Pop up to this Compton place, wait for somebody to climb the hill and appoint a new monarch, without delay. Off you pop."

Some three hours later, Derek Branston-Chutney MP sat on a camping chair next to the Rollright Stones, waiting for somebody to turn up. He was just polishing off his fourth herring sandwich when a walker appeared and came straight towards him.
"I claim the throne!" the walker announced loudly, as he approached the MP.
Clearly word has got out! Derek Branston-Chutney MP thought to himself, as he hurriedly and rather awkwardly got to his feet, knocking over his flask. He gulped down the last of his sandwich and asked, "Your name, sir?"
"Neville Higginbottom," replied the walker, Neville Higginbottom.
Derek Branston-Chutney MP sucked in three of his chins, straightened himself up and then, in his poshest voice, declared, "Neville Higginbottom, it is my pleasure to pronounce you...King of England!"
The new King of England grinned. He was about to say something of great import, when one Gordon Flatwick of East Hagbourne emerged from behind a tree, brained the King with a brick and killed him.
"I am King of England!" declared Gordon.
Derek Branston-Chutney MP shrugged. He was used to seeing people being bumped off - what with being in charge of public services - and he did not bat an eyelid. "I suppose you are," he agreed. He smiled. "And your name is...?"
"Gordon Flatwick," declared Gordon Flatwick.
"Your highness, henceforth you shall be known as...King Gordon of England!" the MP pronounced, before noticing a group of very determined walkers coming up the hill. He could see that at least one of them carried a shotgun, and it was only a matter of moments before that man blew King Gordon's head off with his gun and claimed the throne for himself.
Derek Branston-Chutney MP bowed to the third person to have become King of England within two minutes. "Your highness!" he said. Then he noticed the camera around the King's neck, the golfing trousers which adorned the royal legs and similar attire modelled by the King's companions. "Ah, your highness," said the MP, "if I may be so bold - are you an American?"
The King grinned like a loon. "Yes sur-ee!" he replied, gleefully.
Derek Branston-Chutney MP pulled out a pistol and shot them all. "We're having none of that," he muttered to himself.
He turned and spotted at least two dozen more walkers coming up the hill. Most of them looked fairly normal, if a tad zealous in the way they climbed the hill, although one carried an axe, another was ginger and at least one other was clearly German.
Derek Branston-Chutney MP checked his pistol and weighed it in his hand as he thought about his options.
In no time at all, the first of the walkers had reached the top of the hill.
"Alright?" shouted the walker, thumbs aloft, in a broad Brummie accent.
Derek Branston-Chutney MP sighed. "It's going to be a long day," he observed quietly, as he reloaded his pistol.

AN EXCERPT FROM THE ROYAL LINEAGE, SHOWING THE NAMES OF THOSE WHO SAT ON THE THRONE FOR THE FIRST HOUR, FOLLOWING 'THE GREAT BRAINWAVE'
Higginbottom, Neville (Neville the First)
Flatwick, Gordon
Bradley-Spazpecker, John J. (Yankie the First, and Last)
Harris, Phillip (Brummie the Only)
Cartwright, Jenny Samantha
Partington, Neville (Neville the Second)
Hucknall, Michael
Koch, Klaus
Postlethwaite, Ernest P.
Booker, Cedric
Elms, Mary Elizabeth
Lloyd, Boyd
Griffiths, Geraint Meredith
Higgins, Kirstie
Edwards, Edwin (Edwin the Short)
Niss, Peter
Samson, John
Chuffington-Crump, Neville (Neville the Third)
Owen, Timothy (Timmy the Great)
Spot
Wright-Corker, Angela
Jones, Terrance 'Teabag' (Teabag the First)
Jones Jnr, Terrance 'Teabag' (Teabag the Second)
Lincoln, Steven
Thelwell, Mark 'Tomptus' (King Tomptus)
Beecham, Leonard
Badger
Dong, Arthur
Smart, Marcus
Mann, Huan
Hemmings, Doris
Santana, Ronald
Wiener, MC "Big Boy"
Dave (King Dave the Illiterate)
Millward, Emma Jane