Right Back Where We Belong

 

On the twenty fourth day of Advent my 3-D tree gave to me...a Christmas Eve star! Couldn't have chosen better myself. Here we are, then, at the end of the story, one which I didn't think would be written this year. But I am glad it was. Here we go then...

...it is Christmas Eve at Much Malarkey Manor. It’s always nice to end up back here, isn’t it? Ties up loose ends, makes everyone feel safe and cosy and ready for Christmas. Mrs Slocombe is happy in her kitchen, stuffing a badger and whisking up a vat of her special recipe egg-nog. Mrs Poo is giving the motorhome a thorough valet because she is using it on New Year’s Eve to collect residents from the old folks’ home for their annual Port, Poker and Profiterole party at the village hall. Mrs Pumphrey is in her element, working in partnership with a very excited Kenneth the Phantomime to organise a huge extravaganza of a Christmas Eve show featuring some of the acts that were going to audition for the festive festival for the Dauphin Dolphin and have now found themselves at a loose end.

And Mrs Miggins is sitting in the library with a large gin and tonic and a box of salted caramel popcorn, wondering where on Earth she is going to house twelve drummers, eleven pipers, ten lords, nine ladies, eight milk maids, seven swans, six geese, four colley birds, three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge. And Mrs Glossop.

‘That’s seventy-four extras for Christmas Day dinner,’ she sighs. ‘Making seventy-nine of us altogether.’

She lets her head fall onto the table in front of her, where she has spread a large sheet of paper and has been attempting to make some kind of feasible seating plan using a variety of post-it notes, sticky coloured dots and highlighter pens. Why did she agree to everyone being invited to stay at Much Malarkey Manor for Christmas Day? She must have been overcome with relief and bonhomie following the capture of the Lord General Porpoise, to issue such a reckless invitation.

There is a click as the library door opens. Mrs Miggins raises her weary head from the table and Mrs Poo appears, looking unfairly cheerful.

‘I hope you’ve got good news,’ says Mrs Miggins, ‘because I am feeling quite exhausted with everything.’

‘I am, indeed, the bearer of glad tidings,’ says Mrs Poo. ‘I’ve just seen the twelve drummers and the eleven pipers, and they said that, after the show this evening, they will be heading to the train station to catch the overnight sleeper to Edinburgh, to prepare for Hogmanay. But they thank you for the invitation nonetheless.’

Mrs Miggins crosses twenty-three people from her list.

‘That leaves fifty-six,’ she says. ‘We can seat fifty-six, can’t we?’

‘And,’ continued Mrs Poo, ‘the lords are heading off, too. They’ve had an invitation to spend Christmas Day at Elton John’s place and they said, with all due respect, when you get an invitation from Elton, you don’t think twice about stepping into his Christmas.’

‘Forty-six,’ says Mrs Miggins.

‘The seven swans and the six geese are going to spend Christmas Day on our lakes,’ says Mrs Poo. ‘They say they’ll be on their way on Boxing Day and not to worry about feeding them tomorrow. Something about slugs and pondweed.’ She shrugs and pulls a face.

‘Thirty-three,’ says Mrs Miggins, whose Christmas Eve is rapidly improving.

‘Arnold Partridge is heading back to his ‘Pear Tree’ pub, and Mrs Glossop is heading back to The Rutting Deer. They’re fully booked for lunches tomorrow and the income is too lucrative to miss. They’re taking Juan and Enrico Turtle Dove and Mesdames Tussaud, Bovary and Cholet with them to help out. You get triple time for working on Christmas Day, you know,’ says Mrs Poo. ‘I am almost tempted to go along and help out myself.’

‘I’m losing track but I think we are down to twenty-six,’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘Do continue with your good news, Mrs Poo.’

‘The colley birds need to get back and sort out the Golden Bell Gates. Security breach or something…’

Mrs Miggins’ spirits are soaring by the minute.

‘And…’ finishes Mrs Poo, ‘the dancing ladies are performing in a Boxing Day pantomime and need to rehearse tomorrow. They say they don’t partake of Christmas dinner because of its highly calorific content and the need to squeeze into their glittery hotpants the next day. And the eight milk maids definitely need to go home this evening on account of the risk of exploding cows tomorrow.’

Mrs Miggins breathes out a sigh of relief and scrunches up the piece of paper she has been working on.

‘So that leaves just you, Mrs Slocombe, Mrs Pumphrey, Kenneth and me,’ she says. ‘A happy band of five.’

‘We’ll be eating roast badger until Easter,’ says Mrs Poo.

‘I can cope with that,’ says Mrs Miggins.

And so, the Phantomime’s show goes ahead and great fun is had by all. It is an extravaganza of huge magnitude such that has never been seen before and, quite frankly, put the Royal Variety Show to shame. But then that event has never been the same since it was taken over by ITV in 2011.

‘I have achieved my sense of porpoise, I mean, purpose,’ says Kenneth, who is glowing with glitter and happiness as he, Mrs Miggins, Mrs Pumphrey, Mrs Slocombe and Mrs Poo wave goodbye to everyone just before midnight. ‘I feel quite giddy with it all. What a triumph!’

Mrs Miggins thinks the Phantomime is probably giddy from all the fortifying sips of sherry he has been partaking of during the variety show, but she doesn’t say so. She is just glad that tomorrow, Christmas Day, will be spent with those she loves and cares for, eating a bit of nice food, watching a bit of fun TV, playing a few silly games and generally having a nice break from work. Which is what Christmas should be all about, shouldn’t it?

And I wish the same for you, dear Reader(s). Thank you for reading along again this year. May your Christmas be Merry and Bright. And may your life porpoise be…well, let’s not worry too much about that, shall we?