In the olden days it was ever so slightly different. You spied out a piece of land that took your fancy and did whatever you needed to do to make it yours before your time ran out. You know, in spite of whatever the thoughts or feelings the indigenous population might have had in regard to your sudden domination. It didn’t matter all that much what your motives might have been, your own glory, for king and country or even if they had some religious dimension to them.
But now it would seem that there are all sorts of pesky rules and regulations prohibiting such noble behaviour. It doesn’t matter if you’re operating under the auspices of Thor, Ra or even the likes of the terribly interesting flying spaghetti monster, your crusade is unlikely to be granted the necessary permits. Local governments and alternative ruling become surprisingly firmly entrenched and incredibly hard to shift (I may have accidentally typed shit there in a move that was in no way a Freudian slip).
However, sweet valiant Boris is more than prepared to make allowances for those who have the vision to change the world. He’s tired of the way things are insisting on shaking out on this little island of ours. Indeed he feels this way to the point where he’s not even sure if he still wants to be in charge. So he’s appealing to foreign powers for liberation.
One must take his caveats into consideration of course. The main and most important obviously being that the conquering heroes must absolutely be on board with our lingo. We can adapt to new rulers, fresh customs, a whole different way of life but there’s absolutely no way we can be coerced into adopting someone else’s language or alphabet. Besides, what rational thinking person nowadays doesn’t understand the Queen’s own tongue? Oh, you know what I meant.