Obtain two large rubber boots (preferably same footed for inconvenience to the lower orders. See later.) Nota Bene: not Wellingtons. Procure one quart of rough brandy, if possible from under a Spaniard’s nose at breakfast, a magnum of any Grand Cru champagne, the more expensive the better, and two bottles of alleged cooking sherry from Happy Saturdays off-licence, 95 Al-Filreis Road, Sneinton, Nottingham, near Sherwood Forest, England. Admire the social disjunctions.
Avoid agitated Spaniard. Prepare one cup of your finest, favourite, darkest, ground coffee. Allow to drip meditatively. Scan any possible horizons for passing galleons, map-makers or magi. Compose tome on the socio-economic obsolescence of shepherds. Exchange a nod avec Voltaire.
Take one large jar of German mustard (obtainable from any local hardware store or chemists). Paste throughout boots, liberally. Pour in coffee, brandy, sherry and champagne, in that precise order, order is all, ‘s exact precise price, dusting in between with hog hair and sawdust.
Impress Swabian peasant. March impressed peasant around parade-ground square for two months in full battle-gear. O my bombardier. Exact price order. Be proclaimed among remote provinces. Hunch above maps and dialects. Stalk the borders of irreverent detail and rumbunctious gazetteers. Deny the allegations of unnatural stars. Recite the Odes of Anachronism. Upend Swabian and strain out winter warmer. Waes thu hael.
(Frederick the Great was apparently fond of adding champagne and mustard to his coffee. I have altered the recipe, as well as other facts, somewhat.)