Heeeeeeere's the Dauphin Dolphin!!

 

On the twenty first day of Advent my 3-D tree gave to me...another cute hedgehog. That's four altogether. I think they are all from the same family. Isn't that nice? Meanwhile, the gates of the Five Gold Bells have, at last, been breached...

...Mrs Miggins isn’t quite sure what to expect once she finds herself on the other side of the gates and neither does the Lady Author if she was, indeed, writing this story, which she isn’t. Mrs Miggins had imagined something tropical and watery, on account of the porpoise-theme. Of course, porpoises are found off the cold, wet and windy coasts of Great Britain, too, but we’d rather go for warm and tropical, wouldn’t we? Especially at this time of year.

Anyway, what she discovers is, in fact, something that has a Hollywood musical set feel about it. It’s all sleek lines and well-positioned scenery. She half-expects Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye to appear in their best singing and dancing mode a la ‘White Christmas.’ In fact, the large building in front of them looks very much like the chalet in Pine Tree, Vermont. (Okay, yes, I did watch the film yesterday. What else is a girl supposed to do when she’s on her retreat. It’s been Christmas films all the way, my friends.) There is something unreal about the place. Mrs Miggins is not impressed.

Mrs Pumphrey sidles up to her. ‘Why do I have the sudden urge to dress as Rosemary Clooney and sing, ‘Sisters’?’ she says.

‘You can feel it, too, eh?’ says Mrs Miggins.

Further away in the crowds, Kenneth the Phantomime, however, is thrilled. ‘This is wonderful!’ he says. ‘It’s like being on a film set. I love it. No mess, no unattractive people. It fairly exudes talent and sophistication.’

‘Doesn’t it feel rather fake, though?’ says Juan. ‘It’s not like the real world at all.’

‘And what is wrong with that?’ says Kenneth. ‘Who wants to face the real world with the state it is in at the moment? Certainly not me. Give me Hollywood glitz, glamour, falsehoods and lies any day.’

Lord Blair, who is standing near-by and wondering how his life would have panned out if he’d been a slimy used car salesman instead of a slimy politician, nods. ‘Me, too,’ he says. ‘It’s the only way to build a successful career and develop one’s multi-million-pound property portfolio these days.’

Juan shakes his head and thinks this is all a bit sad. But, he thinks, we have come here with a purpose and that is to catch the Lord General Porpoise and bring him to justice. He and Enrico have already hatched a plan with the three French hens, and all they need to do is bide their time and seize the opportunity when it arises.

There is a small stage in front of the huge chalet-like building and the chattering from the crowd begins to fall into silence as everyone realises a small figure has climbed onto the stage and is waiting patiently for everyone to pay attention. The small figure, who is wearing a smock dress in cerise velvet, red woolly tights and purple Doc Marten boots, is gently tapping her foot but otherwise is standing perfectly still.

Mrs Poo nudges Mrs Miggins. ‘Does she look familiar to you?’ she says.

Mrs Miggins squints. ‘It’s difficult to tell,’ she says, ‘what with the enormous floppy hat covering her face. But yes, there is something familiar about her stance and demeanour.’

And then the figure pushes back the brim of her enormous floppy hat and…’

‘It’s Mrs Glossop, from Olden Glish,’ whispers Mrs Poo. ‘What’s she doing here?’

‘No idea,’ says Mrs Miggins, ‘but I have a feeling that things are about to get rather interesting.’

Mrs Glossop, for yes, dear Reader(s), ‘tis indeed her, taps the microphone in front of her and smiles.

‘Dear people, animals, birds, invertebrates, and other creatures of indeterminate origin,’ she begins. ‘Welcome to the auditions for the Festival to celebrate the greatness of His Grace the Dauphin Dolphin. His Grace is thrilled that so many of you have turned up today and, in a moment, would like to make an unscheduled personal appearance in order to thank you all personally.’

Mrs Glossop pauses whilst a chatter of excitement ripples through the crowd.

‘Firstly, though,’ she says, when silence prevails once more, ‘I shall talk you through the order of the day…’

And she continues her speech, announcing registration and enrolment processes, order of performances, the method of selection of the successful auditionees, and how many cheese-based snacks have been allocated to each participant, and woe betide anyone who helps themselves to more. And, at one point, Mrs Miggins could swear that Isobel Glossop spots her in the crowd and winks at her.

 ‘So,’ says Mrs Glossop, ‘if all that is clear and without further ado, I should like to introduce his Grace himself, the Great and Magnanimous Dauphin Dolphin…’

Well! Talk about making an entrance! As the crowd begins to whoop and cheer - well, most of the crowd. Not those who know the true and terrible nature of the Dauphin Dolphin who is really the Lord General Porpoise – a parade of eleven pipers and twelve drummers march onto the stage and stand to attention.

(If anyone is offended by the odd number of pipers, as I am with my slight autistic tendencies, I think I ought to explain that there used to be twelve pipers but one of them met an unpleasant end in a septic tank. Because, yes, the pipers used to work in the pipe-laying business, of course they did, that’s why they were called pipers, but once one of their twelve had met with a sticky end, the remaining eleven thought what could be a better tribute to their fallen colleague than to form a marching band playing bagpipes? Actually, I could think of several better ways. I mean, have you heard bagpipes? Sheesh.)

Anyway, eleven pipers and twelve drummers are set on the stage and they strike up the jaunty tune of ‘The Liberty Bell’ and all eyes turn to see the arrival of the Dauphin Dolphin…

(As a random point of interest, I am having ‘The Liberty Bell’ played at my funeral. Because why wouldn’t you?)