After defeating the unholy Knights of the ALP, King Abbott took out his broadsword and bestowed titles upon the deserving. Truly peace had been returned to the Abbottlands, writes Ben Pobjie.

And so the King Abbott, warrior-priest lord of all the land, stood before his people and declared that from this day forth, all worthies of the realm would be granted titles suitable to their standing and distinction.

"Come forth!" he bellowed to his loyal courtiers. "Come forth and receive the blessings of your king."

Reaching into his royal bathers, he pulled out his mighty broadsword and prepared to grant his divine favours upon the deserving.

"I dub thee Sir Joseph of the Coffers," said the King to the first of his men, laying the blade upon his shoulders. "May you sally forth to shield the kingdom from drunken sailors and budget emergencies wherever you may find them."

"And you I grant the title Sir Christopher of the Pine," he went on, touching the sword delicately to the frail shoulders of the next. "Your sigil shall be a squawking chicken, rampant, and you shall stand ever vigilant to safeguard my people from the threat of unparliamentary language."

And so the process went on. Sir Brandis of the Lawgarden; Sir Erica of the Drone; Sir Morrisone the Boatslayer; all the way down to Dame Julie Idleshanks, who was given the most sacred task of all: to not say anything too stupid.

Once anointed, the knights of the Abbott took their oath: to forever be defenders of freedom, truth and markets; to seek out and destroy enemies of the crown, the dragons of political correctness, the serpents of organised labour, and the cockatrices of excessive regulation in the financial industry.

With one ferocious blow of his dread sword Menzies, Sir Robb of the Ledger cleft in twain the legendary Red Tape of Rudd, and a mighty cheer went up from the assembled masses, who had lived too long under the thumb of the unholy Knights Of ALP - it was said that any man who learned what the letters stood for would perish.

And so the Knights of Abbott set out to discover what honour may await them. To the north rode the bannermen of Sir Malcolm, under his flag bearing the device of the Turning Bull. There they would find many dangers, battling with sword and axe in windy mountain passes to sever the broadband cables of the warlocks and free the people from the tyranny of inefficient telecommunications projects.

To the south rode those freedom-loving knights who had pledged fealty to Sir Andrew of the Bolt, or as he was known throughout the land, "Brittlefinger". In the strange outlands of the New Racism, these brave warriors would face constant peril from the dishonourable attacks of the bizarre heathen folk who live in those parts, who are forever casting spells upon the righteous to make them ashamed of their own history, and who, although pale in hue, yet still work their dark magic upon grants committees.

The King Abbott was glad indeed when Sir Andrew rode back into the Vale of Canberra, his banner, blazoned with its much-feared crest of two crying kittens supporting a glass jaw on a field of petals, and presented his sovereign with the head of Affirmative Action, a beast many courageous men had perished attempting to slay.

Sir Morrisone, of course, rode west, and did battle with the deadly Queue Jumpers Of The Waves, who seek to entangle men in their webs of lies and are reputed to wear the taxes of their enemies as trophies. But not for nothing was Sir Morrisone dubbed Boatslayer, and he and his doughty band that day put many a boat to fire and the sword, driving the savage Queue Jumpers back into the sea and keeping the Abbottlands free from all those who would seek to improve their situation by means of flotation. On the beach, Sir Morrisone burnt a protection visa as an offering to the Gods of Orderly Processes.

And naturally to the east rode Sir Cory St Bernard, known far and wide as the holiest of all the Abbott's knights, and beside him rode his faithful friend and companion Sir Christopher of the Taser, who had won much fame at tournaments through the realm by suing his opponents' lances before they could reach his shield.

Sir Cory ventured into the lands of the Covered Coven, a band of powerful witches who entrance good Christian men with their excessive clothing. With Sir Christopher's brave assistance he did defeat those pagan wenches, and ventured even further, to the land of the puppies, where both Sir Cory and Sir Christopher did many daring deeds of which they were somewhat reluctant to be especially descriptive when they returned home.

But on that homecoming there was feasting, and carousing, and songs were sung of the many feats of this doughty band of righteous men, who through the strength of their steel, the trueness of their aim and the goodness of their hearts, had won victory over the darkness that had threatened to engulf the Abbottlands in modernity and diversity.

And the King Abbott blessed them, and counted himself lucky to have at his service such fearsome and neo-liberal knights, and he called to his daughters to join him at the feasting table, and there he did declare them to be pretty all right sorts, and there was much agreement. And Abbott and his knights sang lustily God Save the Queen, and drank deeply of the ale, and the women smiled as they did the ironing, and there was peace and light upon the land, and nevermore in all the free kingdoms was there heard the croak of the Green. Truly, the Golden Age of Chivalry had come to pass.

Ben Pobjie is a writer, comedian and poet with no journalistic qualifications whatsoever. View his full profile here.