As is tradition at this time of year, children throughout the world have retreated into their bakelite cocoons, awaiting my arrival with a mixture of consternation and conjecture. Upon my arrival, I will make some snow come out of my mouth, a bit of mistletoe emerge from my smelly navel, and a date slide out of my anti-bottom ("October 12th" - the day you were born).
Today I present to thee (you) the following: a seasonal Christmas vignette entitled Chanderella. It's behind you! What is? Your conviction for dogging and fit-ups.
A beautiful young lady, dressed in rags and coated in grime, is swabbing the floor. She is so poor and impoverished she even has an old man's poo Sellotaped to her back.
This is Chanderella.
CHANDERELLA: I am in loco parentis! And half-Chinese! And also Chanderella! This kitchen is well dirty, man. There are inches of ghee everywhere! See how I swab the inches of ghee with this moist tent part wrapped around the end of a brittle selvard (stick). I'm having an awful time of things, I honestly am.
Chanderella swabs the ghee while making strange guttural yips. After an impossibly long 30 seconds of this, she barks abruptly, then begins to sing a haunting lament.
CHANDERELLA (sings): Swab, swab, swab the ghee/I swab for you not swab for me/Swabbing work is a sweaty hell/Ding-a-ding-a-dong-a-dong/That is the sound of a ding-a-dong bell... Bell!
The door bursts open, and two WOMEN enter. One of them has just one eye - the socket where the other eye sat is naught but a grisly hole, from which drips raw rat mince and maggots. Her skin is pallid and translucent, revealing the pulsing veins beneath. What remains of the hair on her crusty scalp is matted with rotting fruit pulp. The other woman is basically a big greased yam on stilts.
PANGEA: I am Pangea, the first and best of the so-called Ugly Sisters.
PONGO: I am Pongo Cresswell, the second, final, and fourth-best of the so-caled Ugly Sisters.
PANGEA: We hate you, Chanderella. Why haven't you swabbed up all the ghee yet, you lazy hole?
CHANDERELLA: Simply because there's so much of it, and I don't really even have a proper swab. There are inches of ghee covering every surface. Everywhere I turn there are inches of ghee. I'm literally suffering from ghee-blindness, and "gheevles". Even when I close my eyes I can see ghee (I've got ghee on the inside of my eyelids). Indeed, there are so many inches of ghee that it's almost inconceivable how many inches of ghee there are.
PONGO: Shouldn't that be 'incon-ghee-vable'?! Hee hee! Hee har hee-mo-pa-ho! Pum!
PANGEA: Nice one. Sweet. Love it.
Pangea clicks her fingers, arches her back, and puffs out her cheeks to indicate how very impressed she is.
CHANDERELLA: What were you even doing in here earlier to get ghee everywhere?
PANGEA: That's a real easy question to answer: we were having a ghee party.
CHANDERELLA: A ghee party? Please, what is that?
PONGO: It is a party where everything is ghee, from the food, to the drinks, to the guests, to the music. Everything at the party is quite literally ghee.
Changerella suddenly scuttles and barks. Then:
CHANDERELLA: How can music be ghee?
PANGEA: Think about it, you silly girl. If music be ghee, then it is simply ghee.
CHANDERELLA: So, basically there was no music at your party? Just ghee?
PONGO: That's what we've been trying to tell you. We replaced the music with more inches of ghee.
CHANDERELLA: If there was no music, then to what did you dance?
The Ugly Sisters perform a most horrible dance, which resembles the dying protestations of a needlessly beached manatee.
PANGEA: Ghee. We danced and danced before the many inches of ghee. We danced until we prolapsed. And tonight we shall dance the samba of the Crimson Cascade some more!
PANGEA (sings): G! H! E! E!/Those are the letters which spell out Ghee/G! I! N! K!/That's how you spell it in another way!
PONGO (sings): Ghee is a butter that's been clarified/Pick up a lump and open wide/Put it on your tongue and move it around/Ghee tastes a bit better than it actually sounds!
PONGO: We are going to the Bishop's Stortford annual ball now, Chanderella, where we intend to secure a mate. You must stay here and clean the remaining inches of ghee.
CHANDERELLA: I wish I could go to the ball, but there are so many inches of ghee remaining. It is a literal nightmare.
Chanderella sweeps her hand wide, indicating the many remaining inches of ghee.
The Ugly Sisters ignore her, slither out of the door, passing a FAIRY GODMOTHER, as she enters. She has wings, a wand, and wears traditional Turkish dress, whatever that looks like (at a guess... probably some sort of smock, slippers with pom-poms on, a chin strap, and a funny hat, and a cape, and a funny vest, and a false nose).
FAIRY GODMOTHER: Hello, Chanderella. I'm your fairy godmother, Turkish Tom.
Chanderella performs a double-take, and then two more double-takes. And then one more.
FAIRY GODMOTHER: I said I'm your fairy godmother, Turkish Tom, and I am here to tell you that you shall go to the LARPing!
CHANDERELLA: I don't want to go to the LARPING. I want to go to the fancy ball in Bishops Stortford, so that I may procure a mate.
FAIRY GODMOTHER: Alright.
FAIRY GODMOTHER: Unfortunately, you can't go looking like that.
CHANDERELLA: Can I not?
FAIRY GODMOTHER: No.
FAIRY GODMOTHER: It's a really posh ball.
CHANDERELLA: Ok. I understand.
FAIRY GODMOTHER: I know you do.
CHANDERELLA: Good. Ok. Yes.
FAIRY GODMOTHER: I shall turn this pumpkin and half-drunk bottle of Diet Irn Bru into an Uber, these dead mice into Uber drivers, and these bits of tarp into an Uber app, and these spiced bear lungs into a nice dress from TK Maxx. These are the most modern references I can think of!
The Fairy Godmother dances ineptly to a One Direction song, while doing special magic which makes the above things happen in a really neat way.
Immediately following the end of the song, The Fairy Godmother shivers and dies. In total silence, Chanderella drags the corpse to the oven, places it inside with considerable effort, changes into the dress, orders her Uber, and heads off.
The ballroom is full of Princesses, Princess, Barons and Ladies - all dancing to the sounds of a full orchestra playing the hits of the Vengaboys.
Chanderella stands at the top of the Ballroom steps, awed by the scene before her. Suddenly, she removes one of her glass slippers, and hefts it into the heaving mass of bodies on the dance floor. It strikes a handsome young man in the head. This is Prince Handsome Youngman.
PRINCE HANDSOME: Ow! My head - it has been struck by a glass clog.
Chanderella laughs hysterically, drawing everyone's attention.
REVELLER: That girl threw it! Get her!
Chanderella turns to run, but her path is blocked by Inspector Alton Towers of Scotland Yard.
INSPECTOR ALTON TOWERS: Caught you at last! We've been looking for you for a long time, young lady - ever since you threw your glass slipper at that man over there.
CHANDERELLA: Wha...? But that thing you mentioned only just happened.
INSPECTOR ALTON TOWERS: I have no perception of time, ever since I pushed a toothbrush right into my ear for a bet.
CHANDERELLA: I don't know what that even means.
INSPECTOR ALTON TOWERS: Could you speak a little more quickly, please?
CHANDERELLA: I don't understand what's going on.
INSPECTOR ALTON TOWERS: Well, anyway, I hope you have a very merry Christmas, Chanderella... if that's even possible in prison!!!!!!!
CHANDERELLA: Let's sing a Christmas song!
INSPECTOR ALTON TOWERS: Sounds wicked!
CHANDERELLA/INSPECTOR ALTON TOWERS (sings);
Christmas food in Christmas tums,
Make some ghee or yule be glum,
Create that rendered milk fat snack,
Then store it in an airtight sack,
Our Christmas adventure is at an end,
A really abrupt end!