An avenue of trees, with Windsor Castle in the background. It is early morning. The King is riding hard and Fitzroy is finding it difficult to keep up.

EXT. WINDSOR PARK. DAY.

Close-ups of the King’s hot and sweating face.

EXT. COUNTRYSIDE NEAR A FARM. DAY.

The King reins his horse in and we hear the sound of screaming. The King turns his horse, sniffing the air.

KING   Pigs! Come on, boy, come on.

EXT. FARMYARD. DAY.

The King rides into a yard with some pigsties and dismounts.

KING   I say, these are fine specimens. What are they, Tamworths, what?

FARMER   If it please Your Majesty.

KING   Yes, oh yes. Fine breed. Plenty of meat on them, hey? Big litter. Show me the youngster, what, what? Yes, that’s the one. Yes, I say, hey hey. You know what you are, don’t you? You’re a Tamworth. Really? Are you really?
Beaming, the King holds the squealing piglet up to his face and talks to it. Fitzroy looks on with some disapproval.
Cut from the pandemonium of the farmyard to the sudden quiet of:

INT. WINDSOR. THE LIBRARY. DAY.

At the far end of a long library the King is signing warrants and state papers handed to him by Pitt, who stands stiffly by. The King takes care to look through each paper before signing it.

KING   Married yet, Mr Pitt, what, what?

PITT   No, sir.

KING   Got your eye on anybody then, hey?

PITT   No, sir.

KING   A man should marry. Yes, yes. Best thing I ever did. And children, you see. Children. Great comfort, of course.
He looks at one of the warrants he is signing.
This fellow we’re putting in as professor at Oxford, was his father Canon of Westminster?

PITT   I’ve no idea, sir.

KING   Yes, yes. Phillips. That’s the father. This is the son. And the daughter married the organist at Norwich Cathedral. Sharpe. Yes, and their son is the painter. And the other son is a master at Eton. And he married somebody’s niece.
He tries to think whom.

PITT   Your Majesty’s knowledge of even the lowest of your appointments never ceases to astonish me.

KING   What’s happened to Mr Fox?
Pitt simply raises his eyebrows.
Such a dodger. Reform! And too many ideas. Not like you, Mr Pitt. You don’t have ideas. Well, you have one very big idea: balancing the books. And a very good idea it is to have too, what, what? The best. And one with which I absolutely agree, as I agree with you, Mr Pitt, on everything, apart from the place we must not mention.
The King goes over to a globe and runs his finger along the coastline of North America. Pitt says nothing.
The colonies.

PITT   They’re now called the United States, sir.