How many times do I have to explain that I am not a Tudor, not descended from the Tudor line, not a Tudor pretender to the throne. Someone has concocted a strange theory about that because my father has a cousin named Elizabeth, although she is likewise not a Tudor, and because my ancestors, the Stricklands, might have been acquainted with the Tudors in ancient times in merry old England, possibly even entertaining the Tudors on occasion at their castle, having arrived in England with William the Conqueror, and who knows what else. You wish to see me recreate the temper tantrums of the Tudor Queen whom you imagine lashing out in anger against the Spanish when actually it was the Spanish who sent their galleons to be smashed on the coast of England. Who knew that the weather would not cooperate?
You wish to show that the Tudor Queen, stripped of her crown, her power, her money, is nothing, just a flesh-and-blood mortal who quickly withers and fades as the grass. Yes, this point would seem obvious enough already without a need for further emphasis and reenactments.
