It is a historic relic destined to return to British soil again for the first time in 950 years.
Masterfully crafted in 1066 the Bayeux Tapestry – on permanent display in the Normandy town of its namesake – depicts the Norman Conquest of England.
Today, events of historical importance are filmed, recorded, snapped, shared, updated, streamed and tweeted at the touch of the button.
But what if the advent of modern technology never came and historians, scholars and journalists were still confined to documenting history using nothing more than embroidery and cloth?
Today, the Mail envisions the product of such a world, with our own version of how the Bayeux Tapestry might look were it conceived today.
From Donald Trump’s presidency and the Harvey Weinstein scandal, to Wayne Rooney’s run-in with the law and Brexit negotiations — the tapestry of the 2018 would be certain to fascinate future historians.
‘Marry us, Harry,’ young maidens they’d beg. Alack, they’re too late, he’s bagged one called Med, from yon TV’s suits comes good lady Markle, with sharp thigh-high boots and razzle and sparkle
‘Pray, no!’ came the cry from thrice-pregnant Kate, ‘upstaged by an actress! What a terrible fate.’ ‘Tush, tush,’ quoth her Wills, ‘you’re classier than her. True, mum’s doors-to-manuel — but I’m nearly the heir!’
‘Bald prince,’ wailed yon duchess, I’ve fallen from favour. They only want Meghan and Harry The Raver.’ In despair she sought solace from Eugeine and Bea but too busy were they on their hols by the sea
‘Hark Philip,’ cried Kate, ‘Do tell what you think.’ The Duke simple shrugged: ‘Just have a stiff drink.’ Prince Randy said Meg’s a gal he wouldn’t mind: ‘I’ll get Fergie of Pork to invite her right round’
‘Hark Philip,’ cried Kate, ‘Do tell what you think.’ The Duke simple shrugged: ‘Just have a stiff drink.’ Prince Randy said Meg’s a gal he wouldn’t mind: ‘I’ll get Fergie of Pork to invite her right round’
In Windsor, meanwhile, the nuptials draw near, Camilla the wench did wed her prince here. Today he inks parchments in spidery hand, and haws homeopath potions the doctors want banend
On steeds they all come to yon great Golden Globes, the damsels are dressed in their finest black robes. ‘You’re shameful, you men,’ they cry, ‘touch and we’ll sue! Our club’s for girls only, we call it Me Too’
From o’er yonder hill, fair Oprah she rides. ‘Just make me the President NOW,’ she chides. But isn’t fat Weinstein a fond friend of thine? ‘Forsooth, he is not. He’s a brute ugly swine’
But wherefore that rage in Donald Trump’s head? ‘Tis ‘cos a wench says that he laid her a-bed. Yon flesh films she makes, they be XXXX. ‘Fake news,’ he insists, ‘there never was sex’
Now back in our Albion the ministers fall, they’re not safe in taxis — or so goes the call. Yon Damian, he touched a young a young maiden’s knee. And her prim response? ‘That knee’s not for thee!’
But pray, what of Wayne — and fair Coleen too? ‘Tis said the dumb swain’s in trouble anew. He grabbed a blonde maid, said: ‘D’yer fancy a fling?’ Now Coleen’s gone ‘n’ told him: ‘I’m flingin’ me ring!’
So men are all reeling from strong womankind, no kissing, no petting, no blurting their mind. But what’s this I heard from French Catherine Deneuve? ‘Stop hounding ze menfolk — eenurf iz eenurf!’
Yon Brexiteers are full of glee: The votes are in and Britain’s free! That Project Fear, it didn’t work, it made young Osborne look a twerp
At last an end to open borders, to Brussels waste and Merkel’s orders. Yon EU’s Juncker shakes his head. And turns once more to glug the red
Remoaners, full of rage and spite, in courts and Commons wage their fight. ‘Cheer for Brussels when you’re able, we’ll halt Brexit!’ shrieks Vince Cable
Fracen’s Macron’s now their hero. A megalomaniac little Nero. To the European dream he clings, his doll-like wife, she pulls on the strings
To keep the Calais hordes at bay the only hope is our gal May. But joust she must with Reds as well — Corbyn in power would be true hell!
His rabble are a bunch of trots they binge on lentils, wail of cuts. His right-hand man, he worships Marx, terrorists too — yon sinister shark
And what, pray, now blundering Boris, making gaffes and quoting Horace? He lusts for wenches and May’s throne: She’d see him off, with Brexit won