The Prince of Business (near Lochness along the road to Skegness and Inverness) stood on his castle turret surveying the vast tracts of land under his control.
He was rich and powerful and had enjoyed a bountiful year. God had smiled on him and the serfs under his control had worked hard, and the abundant harvest had been gathered and stored. But he was kind to then and there had been nay a day of stress leave required by any. He rode in new carriage pulled by the finest Italian stallion called ‘Enzo’. He had a wide-screen tapestry in every room and holidayed each year in somewhere that had plumbing and didn’t smell bad.
Being pleased, he decided to hold a ‘right-royal’ get together to celebrate his good fortune.
A date was set and invitation lists were drawn up by scribes who laboured far into the night. And, as their candles burnt low on their sticks, the Prince decided to deliver his generous invitations by carrier pigeon. Duly Sir Bill of the Gate was summoned and in the blink of an eye flocks of gallant white doves were dispatched each carrying a little message tied to a spindly leg.
Bravely these little birds flew on. But the world outside was wild and threatening. Some little birds were caught in a violent storm and were blown miles off course, verily to die of disorientation and exhaustion. Others were set upon by Birds of Prey and fledging featherless eagle chicks were fattened on their entrails. Others fell foul of huntsman keen on supplementing their ‘gamey’ supper with a tasty entrée of pigeon pie. And several found a comfortable statue en route and decided to spend the rest of their days comfortably crapping over its bronze head and being fed crumbs by ignorant tourists.
However one brave feathered soul made it through the tribulations of the wilds and landed safely but exhausted at its appointed destination only to be set upon and eaten by the Nobleman’s cat.
And soeth, the appointed day of the party arrived. The imported beer was chilled and right-crispy spring rolls adorned many a wooden platter. And the Prince of Business was well pleased with the sushi, chips and dips.
Except that no one arrived as his invitations had not made it to their intended destinations.
He felt personally slighted. His anger consumed him. He felt a slap of leather glove across the cheek of his ego. He became bitter and twisted and fat from dining on all the party food he felt disinclined to waste. He took a vow to wreak revenge on his neighbours for he misconceived their absence as rudeness and poured his vast fortune into waging war… And he died a penniless, bitter and broken man, surviving in his final years only on the charity of Sir Bill of the Gate who had more money than he kneweth what to doeth witheth.
And the moral of the story:
Just because you sent an email, doesn’t mean someone received it.