Sisters of The Serengeti

'Piglet, it can't fail.'

'I think it sort of already has.'

'Nonsense. Those BBC bods will jump at it.'

'In a windowless room, I hope.'

'I'd appreciate some support, my porcine buckawaynerooney.'

'Alright…tell me again.'

'Dear, oh dear. Right. Call The Midwife.'

'Yes.'

'All finished.'

'Well, not quite. I heard they're doing a short prequel series, followed - '

'Yes, yes, yes, but in its current formica. You know, streets of Poplar, postwar, the nuns and nurses of Heynonnynoh House.'

'Nonnatus.'

'Whatever that means.'

'Latin. Now we are nine.'

'Ooh, I'll be needing more than nine of 'em for my purposes.'

'Which are?'

'Translating Poplar to the Serengeti, where they will go about their birthing business under the curious, not to say predatory eyes of the local fauna.'

'Oh…right.'

'Yes indeed…so you'll have Sister Fantabulosa talking Doreen from Balls Pond Road through the discomfiting vagaries of Braxton Hicks contractions in the path of an oncoming cheetah.'

'Hence your title - '

'Maul the Midwife - precisement, to quote Hercule Potpourri.'

'And they will be? Those poor women?'

'No, no, no - or will they? That's the whole point, my troughligate pal. People will keep tuning in to find out. You know, like The Hungary Games. Folk kept following that on the off-chance of seeing some hapless Magyar spatter his goulash.'

'I don't think that was - '

'Besides, it'll set things up nicely for the sequel.'

'Sequel?'

'Cull The Midwife.'

'So it will happen.'

'Of course not. It'll all be done with that computer jiggery-pokery.'

'Ah, CG - '

'CeeBeeBee, exactly. I mean, I won't actually have Sister Pontefractotum being dragged into the scrub by a brunch-fixated lion - or will I?'

'I think it all rather departs from the spirit of the original.'

'Nonsense, Piglet. Dedicated toilers doing what they do in impossible conditions. Besides, the four-pawed nosh-meisters of the Serengeti will be a symbol.'

'Of?'

'Take your pick…indifferent local council, compassion-free Health Board. Figurative, you see. What poets call a metal-fork.'

'And what if it does go wrong? If one of the Poplar team actually does get - ?'

'Enter Sequel Two. Pall The Midwife. A 24/7 Serengeti-based squad of elite undertakers with a pack of hounds trained to sniff out cadavers ponging of Eau de Dettol. Motto: Where Beagles Dare. In they swoop in with no thought - '

'Ah. No thought. Sequel trois.'

'Sequel what?'

'Just thinking of Monsieur Poirot encore une fois.'

'I tried that once. Tasted awful, even with ballistic vinegar.'

In the Bar at the Pride and Prejudice

'A marvel, Piglet. The only word for it.'

'So you keep saying.'

'Every line she writes is a delight. And what an achievement. Two-hundred-and-fifty years old! The world's foremost novelist and a pioneer of cryogenics to boot.'

'I don't think the lady is actually - '

'My favourite of hers - oh, couldn't live without it. Those five high-spirited girls and their droll father. Feckless, too, mind. Drives his wife up the wall. Why she keeps yelling his name: "Gordon Bennett", gasps she, exasperationally. But then that newcomer takes a shine to the eldest. 'Course, we never know his name, just that he works for the Bradford and Bingley.'

'I think his name is in fact Bing - '

'Then that vicar chap sets his cassock at the witty one…he's the bloke with the patroness who always dresses in red in honour of her nephew, Chris de Burgh, and his big hit.'

'I don't think you've - '

'Not that the vicar bloke gets very far with Miss Witty. Loves ice-skating, she does, by the way: 'Next slide please' - magical catchphrase. Anyway, apart from all else, the vicar can't string a sentence together, on account of spending most nights in the bar of the Pride and Prejudice face-down in a tub of Tom Collins.'

'Pooh, you'll find that the vicar's name is Col - '

'So this other lairy lad homes in on the witty one. Wickham…not his proper name, apparently…what they nickname him for his rather forthright modus oprahwinfrey in respect of the ladies, which is a tad racy for 1813 but, you know, Miss Austen, trailblazer.'

'Wickham, Pooh, is the one who ends up with - '

'His nose right out of joint, Piglet, 'cos the witty one is drawn ineluctably, as it were with faery threads, to Mr Darty, the Regency's very own Luke Littler.'

'You might want to have a closer - '

'Not that it's smooth sailing. Miss Austen is too much of a genius for that. No, Darty has to unendisdetangle himself from a tender yet ill-starred understanding with a female coach at a revolutionary Gothic-themed soccer academy for intermittently distressed gentlefolk.'

'Pooh, soccer wasn't even - '

'Yes, sad but true, poor Miss Catherine Morland of Goalhanger Abbey must perforce be disabused, gadzooks, i'faith, pro tem. But worry not, she subsequently finds enduring love with a certain Edward Ferrier, whose mum, in the parlance of the times, has a nifty set of pipes on her and gives a heart-melting rendition of "Blow the Wind Southerly" when they ply their troughs.'

'It's actually plight - '

'Exactly! The condition of anyone who doesn't swoon over our dear Jane, as we, her closest inmates, call her. You should read her, Piglet.'

'I quite like George Eliot.'

'What, the minor character who loses to Darty on that bitter snowswept e'en at the Ally Pally? Dear oh dear, Piglet, you're missing the bigger picture.'

'And you're missing - '

'What?'

'Er - tea.'

'Good grief! Skates on!'

 

 

Christmas 2025: Punch in the Yulebowl, George up yer flagpole.

'Well then, Piglet.'

'Well then, Pooh.'

'Jubilate...'

'Time to parte.'

'Doesn't rhyme.'

'Not a crime.'

'Let it pass...'

'Charge your glass.'

'Clear your throat.'

'Here's the note.'

'So off we go.'

'So da capo.'

'Merry merry.'

'Happy jolly.'

'Tom and Jerry.'

'Buddy Holly.'

'Jolly happy.'

'Outsize nappy.'

'Roaring fire.'

'Midnight choir.'

'Herod duped! Boy survived!'

'Starmer, K, Pee Forty-Fived?'

'Chestnuts a-hotting.'

'Ms Reeves a-totting.'

'Do you mean tottering?'

'Certainly nottering.'

'Houses all tinsely'd.'

'Andy un-Princely'd.'

'Mince pies to dish up.'

'More scandals, Bishop?'

'New Archgaffer is Dame Mullally.'

'Hope their capers don't drive her dullally.'

'Jenrick and Nigey-boy - '

'Wowing the galleroy.'

'Punch in the Yulebowl.'

'George up yer flagpole.'

'Wise Men a-gazing.'

'Half the world blazing.'

'But ne'er mind the chill.'

'Our boots we shall fill.'

'Wine in the cellar.'

'Kenneth McKellar.'

'He's gone to his Maker - '

'Or, like Lucan, faker.'

'Now mirth be o'erflowing - '

'Now bunions be glowing.'

'Though frost is a-glistening - '

'Toffs are a-pissen-'

'Mind your manners.'

'Fly your banners.'

'Happy merry.'

'Tram 'n' ferry.'

'Sleighbells ringing.'

'Bob 'n' Binging.'

'Sprouts 'n' mash.'

'UK crash.'

'Lowly manger.'

'Queens Park Ranger.'

'Heaping snow.'

'Strapped for dough.'

'New Year Joys.'

'Feel the Noize!'

'Bette Davis.'

'Dot 'n' Mavis.'

'Auld Lang Syne.'

'Dogger, Tyne.'

'They call us screwy.'

'Pinch their Drambuie.'

'Fine plan - '

'Good cheer - '

'To everybody.'

'Crazee times!'

'EEET'S HEEER!'

'Ta, Noddy!'

I'll push the pram, You drag the cot....

'So, Pooh…are you feeling the Christmas spirit?'

'Well, yes and no.'

'Oh…right.'

'It's like Mr Lennon sings, Piglet:

Santa's a concept

Bah which we measure ahhh

Pay-ay-ay-ay-ain.'

'I think it's God that he - '

'Ah'll sing it again.'

'Please don't.'

'Anyway, that being so, I've decided to meet Christmas with something like equanimity.'

'How like?'

'A bespoke hairbrush.'

'Oh…right.'

'And to that end, I've resumed minefieldness.'

'You mean mindful - '

'Makes you think good and proper, Piglet. Makes you ponder the imponderosables.'

'Well, I suppose - '

'Consider the humble leaf, Piglet. Can it choose which wind might waft it hither and yin and yang?'

'Is that what you're meant to - ?'

'Nor yet the modest droplet. Does it have a say in which ocean it must perforce nestle?'

'I think if you're perforced - '

'Nor yet yet the fleeting smile. Is it at all canvassed as to the photogenicity of the mush on which it alights?'

'You're not going to start on with how many roads must a man walk down before - '

'For what is a road?

What has it got?

If not itself

Then it has not…

I'll push the pram,

You drag the cot,

This Floyd is Pink,

That Hoople's Mott,

The Co-op's dead,

Waitrose has fled -

We'll shop at Safeway!'

'I think that's Morrisons now.'

'Oh, for pity's sake, Piglet, why on earth would a Belfast-born songster with a penchant for fedoras, Celtic-inflected soul and a distinct lack of gruntlement be bothering with a supermarket?'

'Diversifying his portfolio?'

'What, in full view?'

By the Rivers of Babycham

 

'Nearly done, Piglet.'

'Sorry, Pooh, what's this now?'

'My contribution to Kanga's Advent Singalong.'

'Oh…right.'

'No doubt you're eager - '

'Not if you're - '

'Not at all, my porcine camarade.'

'Oh…right.'

'This year I've opted for a variation on 'Lech Wałęsa's Lass Looked Out.'

'I think it's 'Good' - '

'Even before you've heard it?  A ringing endorsement and no mistake.  I'll remember you in my prayers.'

'I thought you were agnostic.'

'No, Piglet, she was the blonde one in Abba.  Now, here goes:

Hither, Page, and stand by me
Bring the drink and nosh-o,
You are but a noxious oik,
I'm a toothsome posh-o,
Let us find some random pez,
Fete him one night only,
Salve our conscience for the year,
Leave him lost and loneleeeee.

Well?  Doesn't it capture the essence of the nub of the crux?'

'Er…'

'Oh, come on, Piglet, it's right up there with the best celebratory hums - O Weep All Ye Fateful, O Little Town of Bethnal Green, By the Rivers of Babycham - the lot!'

'I don't think By the Riv - '

'No, well, you wouldn't.  Anyway, what are you contributing?'

'I might try 4'33" by that Mr Cage.'

'Let's hear it, then.'

'It's my extended variation.'

'How extended?'

'To the end of this walk.'

 

Happy Jolly Buddy Holly

 

'Well then, Piglet.'

'Well then, Pooh.'

'Jubilate...'

'Time to parte.'

'Doesn't rhyme.'

'Not a crime.'

'Let it pass...'

'Charge your glass.'

'Clear your throat.'

'Here's the note.'

'So off we go.'

'So da capo.'

'Merry merry.'

'Happy jolly.'

'Tom and Jerry.'

'Buddy Holly.'

'Jolly happy.'

'Outsize nappy.'

'Roaring fire.'

'Midnight choir.'

'Herod bemoaning.'

'Starmer milestoning.'

'Chestnuts a-hotting.'

'Ms Reeves a-totting.'

'Do you mean tottering?'

'Certainly nottering.'

'Rum punch for solace.'

'Here's yer bike, Wallace.'

'Mince pies to dish up.'

'More scandal, Bishop?'

'Minstrels a-busking.'

'Monsters a-Musking.'

'Wise Men a-gazing.'

'Half the world blazing.'

'But ne'er mind the chill.'

'Our boots we shall fill.'

'Wine in the cellar.'

'Kenneth McKellar.'

'He's gone to his Maker - '

'Or, like Lucan, faker.'

'Now mirth be o'erflowing - '

'Now bunions be glowing.'

'Though frost is a-glistening - '

'Toffs are a-pissen-'

'Mind your manners.'

'Fly your banners.'

'Happy merry.'

'Tram 'n' ferry.'

'Sleighbells ringing.'

'Bob 'n' Binging.'

'Sprouts 'n' mash.'

'UK crash.'

'Lowly manger.'

'Queens Park Ranger.'

'Heaping snow.'

'Strapped for dough.'

'New Year Joys.'

'Feel the Noize!'

'Bette Davis.'

'Dot 'n' Mavis.'

'Auld Lang Syne.'

'Dogger, Tyne.'

'They call us screwy.'

'Pinch their Drambuie.'

'Fine plan - '

'Good cheer - '

'To everybody.'

'Crazee times!'

'Behold!'

'Our Noddy!'

 

 

Lonely goats

 

'Short and grey and old and haggard

The doc for tonsillitis goes walking

And when he passes

Each one he passes goes

Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh.'

'To repeat, Pooh, it doesn't improve on further hearing.'

'Well I'm not singing the original. I mean, Ipanema...sounds like a fungal incursion among the under-twelves.'

'Three things. It doesn't. Ipanema is a romantic name. No-one's asking you to sing anything.'

'But Kanga's working on the Hundred-Acre Christmas Festival programme right now. I've got to offer something before it's too late.'

'How about a mime?'

'Ah, yes, like that Marcel Morsel. Actually, I could mime clues to a song and then sing it when someone guesses. Kill two berks with one stone.'

'I was thinking more of a stationary - '

'But which song? Back to square one, you see?'

'She's not looking for songs from every - '

'How about that one from The Sound of Music? Plenty of mime potential there.'

'Sorry, which - ?'

'Stood on a high hill, a lonely goat heard.'

'I think you'll find it's High on a hill was a lonely goatherd.'

'No no no, Piglet. The original syntax is all to pot. I've improved it, you see? Still a touch awkward, I admit, but - '

'But it's not goat heard. It's goatherd.'

'That's what I said, if somewhat more slowly and punctuatiliously than you.'

'It's goatherd.'

'Goat heard.'

'Goatherd. Someone who herds goats.'

'Piglet, verb forms are a closed book to you. I hear. You hear. He, she, it, this, that, mum, dad, Shakespeare, Hildegard of Bingen, Tommy Shelby, Nostradamson hears. I heard. You heard. He, she, it, this, that etcetera heard.'

'Pooh - '

'Not heards. How far do you think Mr Dave Edmunds would have got with "I Heards You Knockin'"?'

'Pooh, it's goatherd. All one word. Like a shepherd for goats.'

'Piglet, it's a be-horned, altitudinally insouciant quadruped on his tod. He heard - not heards, mark you - a yodel of rare invention and beguiling timbre.'

'It's the goatherd who's doing the yodel - '

'So:

Stood on a high hill

A lonely goat heard

"Lay, lady lay, 'cross my big brass bed".'

'That's actually Bob - '

'No, Piglet, it's actually Bill. As in Billy. As in goat. You really must expand your porcine frame of refulgence.'

'As you wish.'

'Not wishes, Piglet. Facts. You should dabble your trotters in 'em sometime. Whole new world for you.'

'Well, one fact is that it'll soon be that time again. So I wish you a Merry Christmas, Pooh, and a Happy New Year.'

'And to you, sir. And to all on Sunday.'

'And sundry, Pooh.'

'No no no, Piglet. He, she, it, this, that, mum, dad - '

'Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh!'