Episode 1- An english 'greek' myth (in which the autor gets terribly side-tracked)

There is no such thing as an English myth. A good myth or legend should include gods, goddesses, strange mythical creatures and heroes with ‘mystic powers.’ St George’s myth was good it had… wait a minute I just contradicted myself again …okay there are some English myths then but they aren’t…well... proper myths. You know what a proper myth is a one with sexy goddesses and spikes and mythical creatures slayed by heroes who are half god and have the power of 1000000 men. St George was just a normal guy he killed a griffin/dragon sort of creature but there were no sexy goddesses… come on were is a myth without the sexy goddesses and another point why are they hundred of millenniums in the past why cant there be one today!

-Please note-

Half of the next part won’t make sense if you’re not from the UK look at author’s notes if you’re across the pond or the lake on the other side!

My story really begins here with a man, not a normal man, but an English man. He can conjure up a mug-a-tea in the quickest time in London (nearly as quick as the queen) then drink it in 10 minuets with a scone and a slice of jam tart. He wore a suit all the time and a small top hat perched at the side of his head like the guy in Little Britain. At this particular moment he was slouching on the sofa in front of the telly building up his morbidly obese belly and stuffing his face with Cadbury dairy milk bars. On the telly was the first episode of the third series of doctor who and there was a new assistant called Martha Jones. The streets were silent the whole nation was glued to the telly and was shaking with suspense. Even the fat people who had eaten too much and had been submitted into hospital for liposuction summoned the energy to shake with suspense. Even in the labour party conference Blair and Gordon had wheeled in one of those tellies on a trolley and had tuned it to BBC one. The streets were empty and were to remain for the next forty-five minutes. The only noise in the entire kingdom the sound of 58,789,194 tellies booming out the Doctor who theme music and was that of the many NHS nursing homes randomly scattered around the country so that they can be forgotten about giving a running commentary on how rubbish it is…

“Betty this is rubbish it’s much too violent,” said Deirdre an old woman sitting in an armchair.

“Ooh I no, I liked it better when that um…erm…what’s-his-name…erm… Andrew…erm…no…um…-half an hour later- oh yeah tom baker” said Betty.

“Ooh I liked him,” said Deirdre I won’t go on, because it bores you out of your mind.