Christmas Special

     Let me regale you with the curious events of Christmas Day A.D. XXIX. Dr. Trousers was in fine form (as usual.) He was showing off his new Christmas trousers, and as such he was enshrouded by a halo of steam. He held court by showing us a most peculiar method of inflating balloons. Let me tell you, gentle reader, that we were all in fear of a single incident of balloon-burstage for the remainder of the evening. I will not relate in which room of the East-Wing this was hosted for reasons of sensibility. At this juncture, Dr. Brunel burst through the French Windows. As usual his timing was less than immaculate. A point of interest for future historians was that he was resplendent in a white suit. On gaining our attention, thus, he explaining in exquisite details how he had just purchased this new fabric, and the said fabric was fresh from the loom. His enthusiastic explanation of the science behind this revolution was slightly marred by the obvious scarring of the aforementioned suit (of the Sauron variety.) It seems that the charcoalesque motif was a tattoo of disaffection embroidered by running into a mob of angry ex-factory workers. Ho hum. He quickly descended upon the drinks cabinet. Stefan IV was in attendance on this occasion. Having not seen his erstwhile son for some years, there was a certain smile of pride on the elder’s visage. As you may recall from earlier missives, Stefan IV is, shall we say, a gentleman of letters. Having travelled far and wide, he has recently returned from an expedition to Madagascar. It seems that he had found a secret city, wherein he had discovered a secret route to the mythical Atlantis. Unfortunately this peculiar story was disturbed by Dr. Brunel falling upon a particularly large red balloon. The party was rapidly dismissed to the Venetian garden. As soon as the havanas were ashen, we were greeted by Mrs. Trousers. The dear lady was resplendent at the focus of the Farting Room, proudly displaying her Christmas Buns. She does this every year, and it is nothing to be worried about, but it still makes me smile. Unfortunately, on this occasion she had taken it into her pretty head to impregnate candles into the centre of her buns. The ignition of her husband’s methane forced her forcibly through the French Windows and (fortunately) into the arms of the deflated Dr. Trousers. As if that were not enough to cope with, this was the exact moment that Professor Huntingdon appeared. Call it an eccentricity, a foible even bloody-mindedness, but he does insist on always driving that damned clowns’ car. With an arrival accompanied with a honking of horns and wheels spinning hither and thither he had made his arrival. With a flurry of activity he rushed a strange contraption into the Smoking Room. With great anticipation he unsheathed his device. What was revealed to our eyes was a Rontgenesque device of baroque design. Huntingdon revealed that had improved the capability of the X-ray Visualiser. Indeed his calibrations made it possible to look into the very soul of the interrogated. Eager to investigate the alleged powers of the device, Stefan III was the first to brave the rays. Curiously his image revealed the largest stovepipe hat that I have ever seen. Before any analysis of the image could be made, Mrs Trousers fell under the influence of the beam. As I stand here today I must confess that I was surprised to cast my eyes upon a Graff Zeppelin. One can but wonder.  Dr. Brunel made the point that the very soul, as a matter of fact, cannot exist. We unanimously concluded that perhaps his didn’t. As for myself, my own experience of the beam revealed a rather risqué image of a very young Betty Boop. Dr. Trousers, for some reason was making copious notes, in a notepad entitled  “The Dummies Guide for the Industrial Spy.” Ho Hum. The rest of the evening was skilfully obscured by custard and curmudgeon. A merry Christmas to you all.