You’ve read Part One and Part Two of Mr and Mrs Retired Hack’s excellent Christmas panto, so read on for the final part. As said before, any similarity to anyone, alive or otherwise, is purely coincidental. Ed
ACT THREE
In the grand hall of the castle, everyone is waiting.
Ed and Georgie, the boy band, enter, stage right, bowing and waving to their fans. They look around with interest.
Ed: “Ooh, it’s posh in here. Is this where the Baron holds his balls and dances?”
Georgie: “We’ll sing you our latest song, but first I’d like to give you a little monologue, ‘Toupee or not toupee’ ..”
Ed, glowering: “None of your business. Let’s sing them our new release, ‘Ferry ‘cross the Solent’. It’s like the Gerry Marsden hit, but we don’t show you any mercy.”
Pughtridde and Seelia, in chorus: “We’re your fans, and we know that you are ours.”
Blizzard: “I’m more of a Lady Gaga fan myself.”
Sir Buttons, (KGB with bar, EGO first class, etc) “Well, they’re half way there. He starts dancing on his own in the corner: “La, la, la, me, me, me, look at me, everyone.”
Seelia: “That’s a catchy tune. ‘Look at me, me, me, me’.”
Sir Buttons: “Guys, I just love your songs live, but the Baron’s made it very clear he wants them off the record.”
Wrong Direction finish their song, with everyone humming along, and take a few moments to catch their breath.
Deputy Stubby: “Well, it’s great we’re all singing from the same hymn sheet, but I can’t carry a tune in a bucket, so I’ll do some jokes for the cabaret. Here’s my best one: how do you kill a circus?”
A momentary silence.
Stubby looks around, winces and ploughs on: “How do you kill a circus? Go for the juggler, of course.”
Groans all round as Ed and Georgie hurriedly start their second song.
Ed steps up to the microphone: “We’re changing our image a bit. We’re going for the rebel streak in our fans, with a tune called ‘Twelve Angry Losers’. It’s a little bit blues, a little bit rock ‘n’ roll, but mainly it’s good old-fashioned sour grapes.”
The Baron: “Who’s your manager, boys? We may want to book you for the official glass slipper ceremony.”
Georgie: “Just see our money man, Dave Burbles. His company’s a bit limited, but he’s great with figures.”
The Baron: “Well, we won’t want to waste money. We were thinking of booking Uncle Reg, the one-man band from Seaview, but he’s got a prior engagement, so you two might fit the bill.”
Sir Buttons (KGB with bar, etc): “Yep, they’re great. I bet my deputy, sorry, I mean my boss, would love them.”
The Baron: “Alright, alright, when’s this slipper ceremony supposed to take place?”
Dennettini comes off her mobile phone. “Well, it’s not arrived from the mainland yet. I’ve just been onto the ferry godmother. Talk about operational difficulties. Their van’s 5.1 metres, y’see, and what with the IMF being shut for the weekend, they couldn’t raise a loan for the ticket. So they tried the other lot, got ten minutes out of Southampton, then got ordered back by the Old Bill because someone on board hadn’t returned a library book on time.
“So it’s ‘as you were’, everyone… there’ll be no trying on of slippers today. I’m off to get loads of booze.”
The Baron: “Well, I suppose we’d better pack up, we can all have a good night’s sleep at least.”
Ed and Georgie: “You kip if you want to, we’re off to the pub.”
Everyone leaves.
EPILOGUE
Dennettini is alone on stage. Cook Lumley’s sherry would have been quite sufficient. But there was also most of the crate of ale, mysteriously donated, with some ugly bloke’s photo on the label. She is supposed to sign off with a rousing rendition of “Wight Christmas”, wittily adapted under the provisions of the Localism Act, but she can’t remember much of it at all.
There is, she’s almost sure, something about “the homeless shiver, the jobless quiver, and may all our policies be Right”. This she repeats several times. But what the hell was the rest of it about?
The curtain comes down just as the boundary between embarrassment and humiliation is reached. The applause is at best scattered. There is no call for an encore.
