Deciding to remain within English shores for a change, i slunk along to Hampton Court intending to insinuate myself into the good graces of a certain wife of Henry VIII, fully aware that i might literally lose my head over this woman but considering her charms well worth the immense risk involved.
However, now that i was here in Tudor England, i wasn't entirely sure if i was most besotted with Katherine of Aragon or Anne Boleyn, both having much to recommend themselves to my discerning attention, Katherine's sultry Spanish warmth and passion against Anne's sophisticated wicked ways and sharp wit.
They were by far the finest of Henry's six wives, the others failing to ignite a spark of passion in even my over-heated and forever writhing, filth-ridden imagination.
Making my mind up to favour Anne, who i'd heard had picked up quite an array of tricks in her time as a young lady at the French court, i crept through the passageways of the Palace and skulked into her private chamber like a thief in the night.
Becoming aquainted with such a notorious woman as herself was truly a pleasure, i can tell you without the slightest reserve.
While her belligerent and portly sire swilled his way through a vast banquet in the halls below, quaffing gallon after gallon of mead, she was bestowing upon me countless secret delights and pleasures.
She later became known as Anne of a Thousand Days but after my experiences of her that wonderfully exhilarating evening in merry olde England, i concluded that a thousand nights with this ravenous beauty would have surely killed me stone dead.
It would have taken them another thousand days to get the lid on my coffin.
