Guthrum here. Your royal in the soil. Your blud in the mud. Your majesty in a cavity.

I was floating around the Nub News office the other day when a letter dropped through the door. Squire Derek got all excited as uze. But when he opened it his face went pale as a… well, as mine. It was the heating bill. Baldur's eyes, it was a king's ransom.

Squire Derek says he's going to have to cut back. No more full Danishes at Huffer's on expenses.

"Big G", he said, "we need to talk about how we can save energy."

"My door is always open", I said. Lolz. "Money's going to be tight. If only we knew where your burial hoard was…" Squire Derek mused. I suddenly noticed the dust on the window sills and busied myself with that.

Taken for a ride

I don't feel the cold because, well, being dead, obvs. But I see how the townsfolk are affected. Heat or eat. Guess that's what you lot mean by 'freedom of choice'.

I clocked one of your leaders, Boris the Unkempt, bigging it up about a bus pass he claims he brought in. It helps people keep warm by riding the bus all day. But I also hear folks moaning about the lack of rural bus services.

The answer's right in front of your noseguard, innit. Get a load of new buses to stop at all the local villages day and night, with the heating on.

Give out the free passes. Result: full buses, warm peasants. Two birds, one runestone.

That's the kind of creative, decisive problem-solving I was known for.

'Course, you lot won't listen. As per, you'll give me the cold shoulder.

Cold shoulder, haha. Dost thou see what there I did?

ITN exposed Boris the Unkempt partying during lockdown again