I, Sir Grufflebahm Oxshire, have received the most distressing news this morning, just as I enter the second day of mourning for Paul. Please read on and lend your assistance if you can."Dear friends, On ye previous day of the sabbath, me horse went missing while I attended the Loyalist match at the Oakwood football fields. He's a fine a steed, but alas not so bright. At first I blamed meself for the vanishing of my dear Hermes Harold Butterscotch, but a harsh reality has set in, and I now must bemoan the unthinkable... that my dearest Hermes has most definitely been stolen... for it's been six long days that I've awaited his return. Butterscotch who will be five this spring, must be in a terribly miserable shape being so many days away from me. And I, dearest Loyalists, am in a bitterly angry state. The villains must be brought to justice. For queen and country, help me!
On a rather positive note, I must declare, strapping grand match on Sunday, lads! The six goals were resounding like the cannonades at Waterloo! Best of luck this Sunday. Kindest regards, Hodsbloth Lewis Butterscotch, IV"
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