Things Get A Bit Testy

 

On the twenty second day of Advent my 3-D tree gave to me...another owl! It's beginning to look a lot like Hogwarts here, never mind Christmas. Meanwhile, action in the Much Malarkey Manor Christmas Story2025 is hotting up. Brace yourselves...

...they say you haven’t lived unless you’ve witnessed an enormous dolphin being wheeled onto a stage in a massive tank of water to the tune of ‘The Liberty Bell’ played on bagpipes and drums. And it is truly a sight to behold. It’s not a glass tank as such, like an aquarium, which would be the obvious choice for a sea-faring creature, but more like a large oak barrel filled with water.

‘A bit like the barrel of malmsey wine that the traitorous George, Duck of Clarence, was drowned in by his brother Edward IV,’ says Mrs Poo.

‘Duke,’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘He was a duke, not a duck.’

‘Pity,’ says Mrs Poo, ‘if he’d been a duck he might have survived.’

‘And what a waste,’ says Mrs Slocombe. ‘I don’t expect they would have been able to use the wine, not after someone was drowned in it, would they?’

‘I would,’ says Mrs Poo, but then she’s been known to drink puddle water before now.

‘Let’s not get too surreal,’ says Mrs Miggins, who is a tad concerned the Christmas Story is fast running out of days, which happens when you don’t properly plan the darned thing.

The Dauphin Dolphin is sitting in the huge tank-barrel of water, with only his top half on show. He’s an impressive figure, all sleek and glossy grey, with dark, sharp eyes and an enormous hooter. He is wearing an ermine-trimmed cloak in white silk trimmed with gold, and a cavalier-style hat, also white, decorated with three large ostrich feather plumes. He nods and makes little bows to his audience who are clapping and cheering in what can only be described as a massive act of sycophancy, because if they knew the true nature of this creature, they would be pelting him with rotten fruit and fish heads instead.

But for Kenneth the Phantomime, the Dauphin Dolphin a.k.a the Lord General Porpoise, is all he ever dreamed he would be.

‘He’s like a glowing emblem of truth and beauty,’ he sighs, taking in the dazzling white and gold apparel and the confident air of a fellow egomaniac who knows he’s got away with hideous crimes against humanity, and then some.

‘Don’t be fooled by his magnetic aura and enigmatic clicking noises,’ says Juan, slapping Kenneth on the cheek. ‘You know what he has done and you know he has to be brought into the authorities to face justice. But what Mrs Glossop is doing here, I don’t know.’

‘Perhaps she’s come to help?’ says Enrico. ‘You know the trouble the Lord General Porpoise has caused in Olden Glish over many years so, of course, she would want to see him behind bars.’

‘Or battered and served with chips,’ says Juan, grimly, knowing that Mrs Glossop, for all her sweet and cheerful nature, can prove to be unpredictable if provoked.  He turns to the three French hens. ‘We need to keep our eyes on Mrs Glossop,’ he says. ‘We don’t want her to scupper our plans of capturing the Lord General Porpoise and bringing him to justice.’

The three French hens nod in agreement and it is decided that they should all get as close to the stage as possible which is a fairly easy thing to do when you are the size of a turtle dove and a chicken.

‘What do we do about him?’ says Enrico, nodding at Kenneth who, like a majority of the crowd, is standing in rapt admiration of the Dauphin Dolphin’s on-stage antics. The Dauphin Dolphin is now juggling mackerel as an example of the standard of performance he expects to see at the festival to celebrate his greatness.

‘I think we can safely leave him here,’ says Juan.

‘It’s okay,’ says Mrs Miggins, appearing at the turtle dove’s side and making him jump out of his combat gear. ‘We’ll look after him from now on.’

‘Mrs Miggins!’ says Juan. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Contrary to all common sense and rational thinking, we decided to come and rescue Kenneth and take him home for Christmas,’ she says. ‘I know he’s a nuisance, but he is our nuisance and we have grown rather fond of him over the years. It’s been a bit of a malarkey tracking him down, but here we are. We could just take him away now, if you like. Mrs Slocombe has a very potent combination of paracetamol, codeine and fig rolls which will knock him out and make him easy to carry.’

‘Tempting though it sounds,’ says Juan, ‘I think he needs to find some sort of closure before he’ll give up his quest to find his life’s porpoise.’

Mrs Miggins hates pop psychology, but she knows that Kenneth the Phantomime doesn’t and that Juan is probably right. ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘We’ll hang around until you’ve captured the Porpoise, then Kenneth can ask his questions, and we can be on our way. How ARE you planning to capture him, exactly?’

Juan opens his beak to reply but his words are drowned out by a sharp and sudden gasp of horror from the crowd.

‘Oh heavens to Murgatroyd,’ says Juan, looking at the stage.

‘EVERYONE STAND STILL OR THE PORPOISE GETS IT!!!’ shrieks Mrs Glossop, for she has taken charge of proceedings and her theme tune is ‘Going Loco Down in Acapulco.’

‘She’s got a harpoon,’ says Mrs Miggins.

‘An enormous harpoon,’ says Mrs Poo, admiringly.

‘A harpoon that is pointing directly at the Lord General Porpoise’s jugular vein,’ says Juan. ‘This is NOT good.’

The Lord General Porpoise – let’s call him that, eh, because that’s who he is and not the fancy Dauphin Dolphin – has stopped juggling and is sitting very rigidly in his barrel with the point of Mrs Glossop’s harpoon resting in a passive aggressive way on the side of his neck. He is making frantic bug-eyed movements at the colley bird guards as if telling them to do something urgently, and they are making helpless rolling eye movements back as if to say, ‘Are you crazy? She’s got a harpoon, for chuff’s sake.’

Mrs Glossop is looking wild-eyed and dangerous. Her arm is quivering because the harpoon is heavy and she’s been neglecting her push-ups of late.

‘I’m warning you,’ she says again, ‘no one move a muscle unless you want sushi for supper.’