I can’t think of anyone in my real life who would be likely to understand what I’ve been snickering over this morning. So let’s see if any of my readers get it.
Substitute “Bradwardine,” as in Thomas (see, I just lost most of the people I know, but the medievalists are probably still with me), for “Reynardine” in the lyrics of Fairport Convention’s song (how many of you just said “huh?”?).
“Oh no,” he said, “no rake am I!”
Or adjust the lyrics a bit. “Seek me in my chapter house. Inquire for Bradwardine.”
That sly, bold Bradwardine.
OK, I’ll shut up now.