Another year, another blog entry

Something came as a shock to me over the past couple of weeks…

…not everybody likes World of Warcraft !

I know ! It’s hard to get my head around but it turns out that (so-called) normal (or regular, as we Americans say) readers of this blog have not enjoyed hearing tales of derring-do with melted candles and Fleshrippers. So, I may add a postscript of how I’m doing so far (I’m in Dun Morogh trying to get past some level 25 Addled Lepers, seeing as you asked) and switch back to more mundane posts.

Christmas has been and gone. The BBC had an article on their news website at ( explaining that throughout England, it’s illegal to eat a mince pie on December 25th. So, for the past *cough* years, I have been a fugitive from the English law enforcement system. I’m sure there’s a sketch in the making right there.

[INT: Suburban home. Night. Christmas decorations hung everywhere. Festive music playing in the background.
People are standing in groups chatting to each other. All wearing smart casual attire. Some wearing party hats, some wearing reindeer antler headbands.
The host and hostess are moving between the groups offering drinks and mince pies. ]

Switch to

[EXT: Path leading to home. It’s been snowing. A number of footsteps can be heard crunching in the snow. We see the home from a first-person perspective]

Switch to

[INT: Same home. Repeat of scene]

Switch to

[EXT: Closer view of home. Sounds of party coming from inside]

Switch to

[INT: Party is in full swing. The host taps his glass to get everyone’s attention]

 HOST: Thanks everyone for coming to our little Christmas soiree. I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves.
  Remember there’s plenty of drinks and nibbles if anyone wants them. We’re going to be playing some party games later
  but, in the meantime, eat drink and be merry.

[The party buzz resumes. There is a knock at the door. The chatter dies down and the host looks nervously at his wife. He edges to the door.
He looks through the spy hole.]

Switch to

[EXT: Fish-eye first-person view of man dressed as Father Christmas. It’s obvious he’s a police officer, he’s wearing his flat cap underneath his Santa hat.
Behind is a group of large “elves”, again obviously officers dressed up]

Switch to

[INT: The host turns quickly from the door]

 HOST: It’s a raid !

[There is a lot of movement as the party guests start to panic. Some screams. The hostess runs to each group of guests and scoops the mince pies off their
plates into a plastic bag. Someone else is following her around with a tray of jam tarts and chocolate brownies]

[There is another loud knock on the door and a voice from outside]

 VOICE: Open up it’s the police !

 HOST: Just a moment ! [Looks towards his wife who nods to show that everything has been collected up]

[The host opens the door and it’s pushed open from outside and in enters large number of “elves” run in each holding truncheons with green tinsel
wrapped around them in a spiral pattern]

[The party scene has changed slightly. The guests are obviously nervous trying not to catch the eye of the “elves”]

[“Father Christmas” starts pacing around the room inspecting people’s plates and looking behind picture frames]

 HOST: Can I help you ?

 FATHER CHRISTMAS: Yes you can, sir. I have reason to believe that there’s been illegal activity on these premises.

 HOST: [Flicks his eyes towards his wife and then back to “Father Christmas”] I…I…I don’t know what you mean.

 FATHER CHRISTMAS: [Still pacing the room] We’ve had reports that you’ve been eating [turns to stare the host directly in the face ] mince pies !
  On Christmas Day !

[Guests gasp]

 HOST: [Faking horror] No ! We’d never do something like that ! This is a respectable neighbourhood !

 FATHER CHRISTMAS: [sniffing the air] Come on now, sir. You can’t fool me. I know what you suburban types are like. You pretend that you are
  all normal on the outside. A little wave to the neighbours as you get the shopping out of the car. Mowing the lawn on a Sunday morning.
  It’s all just a facade. Behind closed doors, you’re just depraved individuals who can’t get enough of that dried fruit and spices.

 HOST: No ! That’s not true !

[“Father Christmas” goes into the kitchen]

Switch to

[INT: Kitchen. Large enough to hold a few party guests. There is a selection of beers and wines on one work surface. On another is a spread of traditional
party fare. One plate is conspicuously empty]

[“Father Christmas” looks at the plate and picks up a crumb. He inspects it, crumbling it between his finger and thumb and then putting the powder on his
[He smacks his lips]

 FATHER CHRISTMAS: Shortcrust pastry ! This gets better and better for you. Doesn’t it, sir ?

[An elf has been looking through the kitchen cupboards and calls to “Father Christmas”]

 ELF: Sarge ! You might want to take a look at this !

[“Father Christmas” turns around and looks into the cupboard that the elf has open. He pulls a jar from a shelf.]

Switch to

[INT: Kitchen. A view of the jar. There is a crooked hand-printed label pasted over the original label. It reads “Branston Pickle”]

[“Father Christmas” peels the label to reveal the original which reads “Mincemeat”]
[Kitchen party guests gasp] 

 FATHER CHRISTMAS: Well, well, well ! What’s this ?

 HOST:  I’ve never seen that before in my life ! It’s not mine ! [ He looks towards an elderly female party guest ] It’s her’s !
  She asked me to look after it for a while !

[ Female guest looks shocked and disgusted at the attempt to blame her ]

[“Father Christmas” opens the top and sniffs. He recognises the smell. He takes his little finger and dips it into the jar, tasting the contents.]

 FATHER CHRISTMAS: Robertsons, if I’m not mistaken ! Probably fetch…what ? £1.59 on the open market ? [Turns to elf] We’ve got a right little
   baker here, Wilkins, wouldn’t you say ?

 WILKINS: Yes, sarge !

 FATHER CHRISTMAS: Take ‘im away ! I know someone that’s going to be spending a long time at her Majesty’s pleasure !

[Wilkins cuffs the host and the host hangs his head in shame as he’s walked out of the house in front of all his guests]

 FATHER CHRISTMAS: [ to the other guests ] You people never learn ! You’re all perverts !

[“Father Christmas” walks out]
[Short pause]
[“Father Christmas” walks back in]

 FATHER CHRISTMAS: [ to the other guests ] Oh ! Merry Christmas !

[Fade to black]

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