Cat's M/M Fiction

The Christmas Brativity Play
By Cat           


Suspend belief all ye who read here, pure nonsense to follow.

Ah, what would Christmas be without all the little darlings across the land performing in School Nativity plays? No it wouldn’t be a relief, it would be sad, now behave!  With that in mind let me present the customary nativity...with a twist.

Picture the scene: it’s Christmas in some strange (very strange) alternative universe. There’s a play in production and all the parts have been allocated, rehearsals have been rehearsed and it’s the big night itself. Some oddly familiar characters are about to take the stage. Quiet at the back please, or I’ll have to send you out and then there’ll be trouble.


Backstage all is not peace and goodwill


“But it’s not fair, it’s just not fair! I want to be the Angel Gabriel. I want to wear a tinsel tiara and have glittery wings. I’d look divine darling, far better than him. He just can’t carry that costume in the same way I could, he’s much too short for a start.”  Sam glared at the glitter-encrusted messenger of God, who having issues of his own, glared back.


“It’s a halo not a tiara and anyway I don’t want to be a sissy angel,” pouted the holy one doing a mini impression of Michael Flately on an ecstasy binge. “I want to be an arse!”


“Be quiet and stop that stamping,” said Jack, trying to straighten Danny’s halo, which insisted on leaning to one side, “and I think what you wanted to be was an ass, it’s a kind of donkey.”


“He got it right first time, darling.”


 “Shut it, sheep boy,” Danny stuck his tongue out, “you’re always bleating.”


“Gimme that halo,” Sam attempted to unhook the halo from Danny’s head using his shepherd’s crook, “it’s mine by rights. I was born to shine.”


 “Stop it at once Sam. We’ve been through this,” Colin hastily intervened before the angel and shepherd indulged in an unholy punch up. Unhooking crook from halo he took the surly shepherd to one side. Pasting an encouraging smile onto his face he gushed, “besides you’ve got two roles to play, haven’t you, two very important roles. You’re the first shepherd and the innkeeper. There couldn’t be a nativity without shepherds and an innkeeper, now could there?”


 “Darling that would be an absolute blessing. Have you seen this costume,” Sam stamped his foot crossly, “I mean have you really looked at it, have you?  It’s a frumpy old sugar sack. Victoria Beckham wouldn’t be seen dead in it and neither would David Beckham and God knows he’s worn some strange things. And why do I have to wear this bloody tea towel on my head?”


Defying a strong urge to grit his teeth Sam wagged a finger in the petulant face, “that’s more than enough bad language from you young man. I don’t want to hear you swear again, and take those sunglasses off. Shepherds didn’t wear sunglasses, not in those days.”


“They didn’t wear tea towels either darling! I mean it doesn’t say in the bible, ‘and there were shepherds abiding in the fields wearing dish drying cloths on their heads,’ did it?”


“Try not to think of it as a tea towel. Try to see it as a Palestinian headdress.” Colin’s urge to grit grew stronger conveying itself from his teeth to his hands, which had a compulsive desire to grip Sam warmly by the throat.


“Tell that to that philistine Danny then,” Sam scowled, “he keeps wiping his hands on it.”


“I’ll have words with him, okay?”


“Can I be a wise man?” Sam gazed up at him appealingly,  “go on let me be a wise man. They get to wear crowns and jewels. I want to wear crowns and jewels. I’d look gorgeous in crowns and jewels.”


“No,” said Colin firmly. “You’re a shepherd and an innkeeper and that’s all there is to it.”


“Meanie,” Sam turned his back. “I made you a Christmas card with a fairy on and lots of sparkle and glitter. I’m not giving it to you now. I don’t like you any more.”


“I suppose I’ll just have to live with that sad fact.” Colin began to mentally count down the days to Easter; he’d had enough of Christmas and it wasn’t even here yet. He held out a large toy sheep. “You’ll be on soon, innkeeper first and then shepherd. Here’s your prop put it somewhere safe.”



“Nope,” Sam stubbornly shook his head and crossed his arms, refusing to take it. “Don’t like!”



The door of the costume room suddenly crashed open making both Sam and Colin jump with fright.  “I’m not wearing a bloody girly long frock. You can’t make me!” Ally stormed out.



“That’s enough of that bad language Alison Macintyre,” Dennis quickly followed her knowing that if he didn’t keep an eye on her she’d disappear and they wouldn’t be able to find her for ages.  “Remember you’re a young lady and young ladies do not swear.”  A loud raspberry greeted this remark followed by a yelp, “I warned you what would happen if you did that again, now behave yourself. You have to wear a dress. Mary did not wear skater jeans and a fcuk t-shirt.”


“Well she should have done.”


Dennis sighed and exchanged looks of long suffering with his Nativity co-producers Sam and Jack.


“I’ll play Mary,” piped an eager voice. “I like that blue dress it’s better than this ghastly rag,” Sam tugged crossly at his dull coloured costume.  “And Mary gets a tinsel tiara. I want a tinsel tiara instead of this stupid tea towel.”


“Okay,” Ally’s face brightened.  “I’ll swap with Sam and be a shepherd. I like sheep.”


 “You are playing Mary, and that is final!” Grabbing her hand Dennis marched her back towards the costume room.


“Mary’s stupid.  I wouldn’t let a dirty great angel tell me I was with child by the Holy Ghost. I’d punch its lights out and demand a pregnancy test!”


“I’m fairly confident that you’ll be way down low on any list of prospective candidates for the real mother of the Messiah,” said Dennis with a touch of asperity as he firmly closed the door of the costume room.



“It’s not fair, it’s just not fair. I want...” Sam stopped mid-moan as a stern finger presented itself to the tip of his nose. It spoke with Colin’s voice.



“Listen to me and listen good. You are not playing the angel. You are not playing a wise man. You are not playing Mary. You are the first shepherd and the innkeeper. Are we clear on your roles in this production or do we need to go somewhere quiet and discuss them in greater depth?”


Sam’s pout reached competition standard, but he shook his head and muttered, “okay, I’ll be a smelly, stinky, dull little shepherd and boring, boring innkeeper. I just hope you can live with yourself when I end up emotionally scarred by it all.”


Colin leaned down, “see that corner over there?” He pointed.


Sam peeped over the tops of his Mickey Mouse sunspecs, “what about it darling?”


“Go and stand in it facing the wall. I’ll come for you when it’s time for you to go on stage.”



Something about the murderous gleam in Colin’s eye persuaded Sam that obedience without question would be a smart move. So he smartly moved.




“Jack, Jack!” Danny tugged impatiently at his sleeve.


“What is it Danny?  I’m trying to fix your harness. We have to string you up ready for your big entrance.”



“I need a wee Jack.”



“No,” said Jack firmly. “You went not five minutes since. You can’t possibly need another one, besides I’ve got you all wired up and ready to descend on stage.”


“But I want to go Jack. I really want to go. Honest I do.”



“I’ve warned you time and again about drinking too much orange juice. It’s getting to be a bad habit.”



“I only had six pints that’s not much,” Danny scowled. “If I wet myself it’ll be all your fault.”



“You won’t wet yourself Daniel, don’t be silly. You’ll only be onstage for a few minutes and then you can go to the toilet.” Jack stared in frustration at Danny’s halo, which despite his best efforts insisted on leaning heavily to one side. He straightened it determinedly, “there that’s better, now you’re a perfect angel.”





Gordon smiled and squatted down in front of Nigel, “you look very nice. Are you all set, can you remember your lines and the words of your song?”


“Yes Gordon,” Nigel gazed earnestly into the blue eyes, “I’m good at remembering second shepherd lines and singing. Paul and Anna have been helping me practice. I got all mixed up at first, but they taught me the right words. That was nice wasn’t it Gordon?”



“Very nice,” Gordon turned to smile at two of the three wise men who beamed radiantly back at him.  The third wise man was intently holding his gift of gold close to his ear. “What are you doing James?”


“There’s someone inside here Gordon.”


“No James, there isn’t. It’s just a box wrapped in gold paper.”


“There is Gordon, I’m not lying. I can hear a voice. It’s a woman’s voice.”


“There is no one in that box James, so no more nonsense.” Gordon took hold of the box, his face blanching as a strange tinny voice emanated from it. He cautiously held it to his ear, and then grinned, “it’s a music box that’s been wrapped up. Handling the box must trigger the mechanism.  I think its Julie Andrews singing a song from The Sound Of Music.”


“What’s The Sound Of Music Gordon? Is it nice, would I like it?”


“It’s a film Nigel. I expect it will be on television this Christmas, it usually is,” Gordon shuddered and made a mental note to be out when it was televised. He turned his attentions to Nat, “have you learned all your lines as Joseph?”



“Yes I’ve learned all my lines, such as they are,” said Nat witheringly. “I mean it’s hardly a demanding role is it, it’s virtually just a walk on part. I’m not likely to get an Oscar nomination out of it.”


Gordon raised his eyebrows, “a simple yes or no would have sufficed young man, so don’t take that tone with me...what’s that you’ve got in your hand?”


“Nothing,” Nat whipped his hands behind his back adopting an expression of intense innocence.


“Give it to me please,” Gordon held out his hand, “now Nathaniel, before I decide we need to have a private talk.”


Nat obediently handed over the object.


Gordon observed it with disgust, “and exactly why are you carrying one of the school stick insects around with you?”


“I though Anna was the school stick insect,” interjected Paul glancing at her with sly glee.


“Shurrup Muppet boy or I’ll stick that Myrrh where the sun don’t shine.”


“You and whose army skinny Jinny?”


“I don’t need an army to get the better of you figgy pudding face!”


“That’s enough thank you,” Gordon turned icy blue eyes on them. “Why must you two always quarrel, it’s most tiresome.” He turned back to Nat, “these creatures are very fragile. You have to handle them carefully, preferably not at all, or they end up dead like this poor creature.”


Nat’s bottom lip quivered, “I never killed it Gordon, I promise. It was already dead when I went to feed it. It had fallen off it’s twig, and, and, and...”


“And what sweetheart?”  Gordon spoke more gently.


“And I didn’t want Nigel to see it because he gets so upset, so I put it in my pocket till I could find somewhere to bury it.”


“You’re a very kind boy,” Gordon patted Nat’s shoulder, “but you should have told me and I’d have dealt with it. I’ll pay a visit to the pet shop later and buy a replacement. Maybe I’ll get a goldfish too, they’re easy to look after.” He deposited the deceased creature in a filing cabinet and then went to take a peep between the curtains; it was almost a full house. He looked at his watch. “Places everyone. Let’s set this production in motion.”


Colin hurried towards Sam’s corner and then rocked back on his heels rendered momentarily speechless by what he found there. However his vocal chords soon made a rapid recovery. “Take it all off Sam, you bad boy.”


“But I look lovely,” Sam performed a happy little twirl,  “admit it darling. I’m bringing glamour to the tedious little world of sheepdom.”


“Shepherds and innkeepers,” Colin began to swiftly un-decorate Sam, “did not secure their headgear with silver tinsel, nor did they belt their robes with gold and purple tinsel, nor did they wear Cinderella glass slippers, and they definitely did not wear Christmas tree bauble earrings or carry sparkling wands. It’s all coming off and it had better stay off. And furthermore,” he lifted Sam’s robe to deliver a brisk slap to his bottom, “you were told to stand quietly in that corner, not raid the Christmas decorations box.”


“Can’t I just keep the wand,” wailed Sam, “it’s only a little wand, no one will notice.”


“No.” Colin flung out a dramatic arm, “now get on that stage and prepare to turn Mary and Joseph away from the Inn.”


Sam flounced towards the stage muttering something about beasts that could play an entire herd of oxen without needing makeup or masks.


Colin took a few deep calming breaths as he freed the stuffed sheep from its bondage of flashing fairy lights.



The Performance

Joseph knocked on the doors of the inn. “Please let us have a room quick, my bethrow...betrough...her, the missus,” he jerked his thumb at Mary who grinned in a very un-Madonna like way.


 “Ha-ha,” she said, “Nat-can’t-say-betrothed.”


“Can too.”




“I was getting there until you rudely interrupted me and anyway I’m not Nat now, I’m Joseph. I’m in character.”


“Shut it Joe and get on with it or I’ll be stuck in this bloody frock all night.”


Joseph glared at his beloved betrothed and knocked on the door once again stating loudly, “my wife is with child and needs to have somewhere to lie down so she can be without it.”


“That’s not in the script.”


“It is now.”


The Innkeeper dramatically flung open the doors, causing the set to wobble like the walls in prisoner cellblock H. “Tough luck darlings,” he bawled.  “The inn is full so shove off and find a Travelodge!” He slammed the door closed.


“I’ll kill him,” mumbled Colin from the wings. Reaching into his pocket he extracted a pack of indigestion tablets, popping several into his mouth before going in search of some headache tablets.


Hitching up her frock Mary booted the door and yelled, “open up or I’ll kick out all your teeth!”




“YOU PONTIUS PILATE PIG!” Mary punched a hole in the cardboard door, “let me in or I’ll tear off your lugs.”


“And so,” Dennis, in his capacity as narrator, walked quickly onstage directing a furious look at Alison as he did so, “the innkeeper, being a kind soul, took pity and offered them the use of his stable. While there the time came for Mary to have her child.”  The hairs on the back of his neck rose and there was an audible gasp of fright from the audience as Alison broke into an agonised screaming and began writhing around clutching her stomach.




Dennis, his heart hammering like a piston rod, pulled her to one side, hissing, “what on earth are you doing young lady? You nearly gave the vicar a heart attack. He’s just fallen off the front row bench.”


“I’m giving birth. I’m trying to make it realistic.” Alison smiled sweetly and fluttered her eyelashes.


“Stick to the script madam,” whispered Dennis fiercely before turning to face the audience with an actor’s smile and continuing, “and so Mary gave birth to a son, her firstborn.” Ambling elegantly across to the side of the stage he picked up the doll that was acting the part of Jesus, “and she wrapped him in,” his jaw dropped, “a leopard skin mini dress and combat boots...DANNY!”


The Angel of the Lord was verrily most thankful to be hanging safely from the rafters as his name reverberated around the hall.


Jesus was quickly and more decently attired in swaddling clothes, or at least an off white knitted matinee jacket, and then hastily thrust at Mary to place reverently in the manger.


“I’ll lay him in the manger,” Joseph suddenly made a lunge for the doll, “he’s my son too you know. I’m a modern dad I am. Besides, you’ll be tired after just giving birth.”


“Gerrof you,” Mary grabbed the doll back. “He’s God’s son, not yours, and it’s my job to put him in the manger.”  She went to do her motherly duty and once again Dennis and the audience recoiled in shock as she suddenly began shrieking at the top of her voice, causing the poor Vicar to crash from the pew he’d only just remounted. “The manger is full of dead things. AGGHHHH. One of them is still alive. It’s alive. It’s ALIVE! It’s attacking me. It’s on my arm. Get it off, get it OFF!” She manically waved her arm about dislodging a large stick insect that dropped onto the stage floor with a plop. Grabbing the baby Jesus by the heels she proceeded to beat the insect to death with him. “It’s alright,” she gasped, pointing down at the messy pulp, “the bugger’s dead. I reckon it was a foul plot by Herod to assassinate the newborn King in his bed. There you go kid,” she tossed the doll into the manger, “you can sleep in heavenly peace now.”


There was a stunned silence in the hall.


Nathaniel allowed his eyes to travel slowly to the wings were Gordon was standing with a look on his face that would have caused Frosty the Snowman to erupt in Goosebumps. “It was already dead,” he mouthed defensively. “It was Gordon, really it was. They all were, it must have just caught on her sleeve.”


Gordon crooked his index finger in a gesture that suggested he wished Nathaniel to come to him. Putting a knuckle in his mouth, Nat slowly shook his head from side to side in a gesture that suggested he would rather eat a dead stick insect than go to Gordon.


A ghostly and plaintive voice floated eerily down from the rafters, “Jaaack, I need a wee. I can’t hang on much longer. I really need to go now.”


After thrusting the crook and toy sheep into sulky Sam’s hands, Colin pointed forcefully at the stage and growled, “no more whining. Get on that stage and shepherd in the way we rehearsed. No adlibs, or else.”


“If I catch foot and mouth off this thing,” Sam crossly shook the sheep, “I’ll sue darling, I will.” Recognising the familiar movement of a hand drawing back into swat mode he hastily galloped onto the stage.


“On you go Nigel,” Gordon gently manoeuvred the second shepherd onto the stage, while attempting to discreetly collar Mary’s spouse who thwarted him with a crafty side step, scuttling across the back of the stage to the safety of the opposite wing from where he gave Gordon a cheeky wave.


“Get ready to winch Danny down Jack,” said Dennis wearily. “Let’s get this farce over with for another year.” He fixed his narrator’s smile in place and walked to the centre of the stage. “In the countryside close by there were shepherds abiding in the fields. They took it in turns to watch their flocks by night. And lo the angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of the Lord shone about them.”  Dennis stepped to one side, holding out his hand to indicate that a holy happening was in progress, as Danny slowly descended from the rafters, “the shepherds were sore afraid, but the angel said...”


“DO NOT BE AFRAID,” roared Danny, as if fearful that the people at the back of the hall couldn’t hear him when in actual fact he could be heard several blocks away.  “I BRING TIDINGS OF ENORMOUS JOY, AND I MEAN HUGE...” The stage lights sparkled prettily on his wings and halo and there was a collective ripple of oohs and aahs from the audience who although rendered deaf by the angel’s proclamation, still had their visual faculties intact.


Sam’s green-eyed monster took full and terrible possession of him. Wildly whacking his crook like a Mexican trying to break open a piñata, he swiped at the Angel of the Lord like a shepherd possessed, yelling, “who’d be scared of a ginger angel? Anyway, everyone knows there aren’t any ginger angels. Angels are blonde. It should be me up there twinkling and shining. I want that tiara.”


“Get stuffed Lambo!” Danny grabbed his wires and swung himself at Sam’s head while kicking out with his feet and managing to dislodge the tea towel headdress.


“Winch him up Jack, be quick,” whispered Dennis urgently. “This is turning ugly.”


“I’m trying,” hissed Jack, “the mechanism is stuck.”


Building up a good momentum Danny flew back and forth across the stage like a celestial Peter Pan, trying to avoid the lash of the shepherds stick, which had already struck him sharply on the ankle. It struck again and he lost his temper, “you flocking shepherd, I’ll get you for that.” Giving a Tarzan cry he swung towards Sam snatching both crook and sheep from his arms.  After whacking Sam with the crook he chucked it to the side of the stage and then drop kicked the sheep into the audience. Unfortunately it struck the vicar’s wife a hefty blow to the cranium sending her crashing backwards off her pew.


“When does the James Bond film start?” she asked, clambering dazedly back onto her seat.


“Lift him up Jack for God’s sake!” Dennis stared wild-eyed from the pantomime on stage to the frantic winch man in the wings.


“I’m trying Dennis, believe me I’m trying, but it won’t budge.” Jack wiped the sweat from his brow.


A loud wail of distress rang out as the bewildered second shepherd tried to dodge the missiles that his fellow shepherd was lobbing at the airborne angel. “That’s not nice. It’s not nice is it Gordon, it’s not nice whacking Angels of the Lord. You can’t go round whacking Angels of the Lord and kicking sheep. It’s just not Christian or even friendly, is it Gordon?”


Grabbing the discarded shepherd’s staff Colin managed to hook it into the collar of Sam’s robe, dragging him ignominiously off stage. At the same moment the winch suddenly un-jammed and with a scream Danny rocketed back up into the rafters like a divine bungee jumper. His halo flew off and spun through the air doing a fine impression of a spangled Frisbee. The school caretaker caught it in his teeth. It wasn’t intended, he just stood up at the wrong moment in order to leave the hall and avail himself of the facilities. He gracefully accepted the round of applause while wondering if catching halos in his teeth qualified him to appear on ‘Britain’s Got Talent.’


Poor Nigel was left alone on stage.


“Sing your song. Sing your song Nigel, there’s a good lad,” encouraged Gordon from the side of the stage. He nodded to the organist who struck up a chord.


“Wait until I get my hands on this little devil,” Jack began to wind Danny down only to have the mechanism jam again.


“Hurry up Jack. Get me down. I need to go.”


“Be quiet Daniel,” hissed Jack fiercely. “You’ll spoil Nigel’s Christmas carol,” he suddenly paused, giving Gordon a horrified look, “is he supposed to be singing those words to that tune?”


Gordon turned his thoughts away from dead insects and listened more closely to the carol that Nigel was happily warbling.


“While shepherds washed their socks at night all sat in front of the telly, the angel of the Lord came down and farted something smelly?”


Gordon groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Just wait until I lay hands on that pair of rogues.”


Dennis, a muscle rapidly twitching under his right eye, gazed solemnly at the audience (some of whom were weeping) and manfully carried on with the play. “After Jesus had been born in Bethlehem, some wise men came and asked of Herod where is the infant king? We saw his star rise in the East and have come to worship him.”


Three richly enrobed wise men trooped on and circuited the stage carrying their gifts in solemn procession. The stable and manger were placed in a central position with Mary and Joseph gazing proudly at their son, anything but gaze at Gordon and Dennis who were gazing at them with terrifying intensity.  Completing one last tour of the stage the wise men finally arrived at the stable to present their gifts to the child. There was a sticky moment when a certain wise man refused point blank to hand over his gift of gold, which he had firmly clamped to the side of his head. A brief, but rather unseemly struggle followed. Mary won, leaving one wise man from the East nursing a black eye and wailing.


The organist began to play the opening bars of ‘We Three Kings of Orient...’


“I dare you,” whispered Paul out of the corner of his mouth as the narrator, who gave Mary a look that indicated she was off his goodwill list, escorted James off stage.


“I dare you too. In fact I double dare you.”


They grinned at each other and launched into their carol with gusto.  “We Three Kings of Leicester square, selling ladies underwear, they’re fantastic, no elastic, whoops there goes another pair!”




Dennis, Jack and Gordon borrowed an indigestion tablet from Colin and then shared out what was left of the aspirin. “Let’s get everyone gathered around the manger for the last carol,” Dennis mopped his brow with his hanky. “I can’t take much more of this.”


Jack nodded, “Danny’s stuck up there for the time being, so I’ll help with the singing.”


Gordon, Colin and Dennis exchanged horrified glances. Dennis swallowed, “is that really a good idea Jack. I mean Mrs Medley the organist is already under stress after Nigel, Paul and Anna’s renditions.”


“I’m hardly likely to sing rude alternative words, now am I Dennis?” said Jack with dignity.



The Grand Finale


 The wise men, shepherds, oxen and ass, the sheep and the Holy Family gathered around the crib where the newborn babe lay peacefully sleeping.  Dennis nodded to Mrs Medley who set aside her pint of brandy, and with shaking hands nobly played the opening bars of the final carol. The assembled company and audience almost joined the heavenly host on high as Jack’s voice boomed out ahead of everyone else’s in totally the wrong key. “SILENT NIGHT, HOLY NIGHT, ALL IS CALM, ALL...” Two of the oxen began to cry and the ass, being of a nervous disposition, fainted.


“It’s raining,” shouted Ally as something suddenly pattered onto the manger, “it’s raining inside.”


Everyone stared in amazement as large drops spattered down onto the stage.


“The roof must be leaking,” said Gordon holding out his hands in bewilderment, “we’ll have to get someone in to look at it.”


“It’s him. It’s him,” bellowed Sam pointing up into the rafters where Danny was still gently hanging and twinkling. “The Angel Gabriel is piddling on our heads!”


“It’s not nice is it Gordon,” wailed Nigel, shielding his head with his hands, “it’s not nice piddling on peoples heads?”


“It’s pissing down,” screeched Paul joyfully, “it’s literally pissing down.”


“That’s enough swearing from you Paul, you too Anna. Stop that silly giggling at once.”


Everyone shrieked with fright as angel water got into the electrics and short-circuited a microphone with an almighty flash and a bang that, had it been a pantomime, would have heralded the arrival of a genie.  It was all too much for the poor Vicar. Clutching his chest he plunged once more from his seat hitting the floor with a thud. His wife (an avid fan of Casualty and ER) leapt astride his body and pounded a fist into his chest screaming, “breathe, breathe you bugger, you can’t peg out at Christmas. I’ve just stuffed a goose!”


“I told you,” wailed a mournful voice from on high, “but you wouldn’t listen. I told you, didn’t I? I told you I couldn’t wait, it’s not my fault Jack.”


Mercifully the curtain fell on the performance to end all performances. The ambulance arrived to take the gibbering Vicar away, and Mrs Medley sojourned to her Sobriety Club meeting taking a litre of Spanish Brandy with her for medicinal purposes.



Post Performance


“But Jack, you can’t spank me,” Danny finally descended once more to earth, “I’m a messenger of God.”


“So am I,” said Jack sternly, gripping him by the ear and marching him off, “an avenging one.”


“But Dennis,” wailed Ally,  “you can’t spank me. I’m the mother of the Messiah.”


“And I’m the father of patience and goodwill,” stated Dennis coldly, “but frankincense (oh come on it’s Christmas. I’m allowed one pun) you’ve taken them to their very limits with your antics tonight young lady.”


“You can’t spank me darling,” pouted Sam.  “I’m a humble and ignorant shepherd. I don’t know any better, besides, none of this would have happened if you’d let me have at least one stingy little sequin on my costume.”


“Ewe must be joking,” Colin took a firm hold of Sam’s hand. “You’ve been a baa’d baa’d boy all evening.” (Look, it IS Christmas!)


Gordon gazed sternly at Nat, “I suppose you were hoping for a Christmas miracle. Did you perchance think the manger possessed resurrectional powers? And,” he gave Paul and Anna a very un-jolly look, “it’s obvious that you two need help in remembering the correct words to carols. You can both spend tomorrow writing out the words for each song one hundred times.”  He ushered the trio ahead of him.


“Can you manage that lot Gordon,” Dennis gave him a sympathetic look.


“Just fine thank you Dennis. I’m quite used to dealing with multiple mayhem.”


  And so endeth The Brativity Play for another year. Teachers, parents and carers across the land postpone their nervous breakdowns in order to stagger to the pub for some much needed and justly earned Christmas spirit.  Hearts and souls are cheered and warmed by the eternal beauty of the Christmas story.  However, in certain quarters, hindquarters, there are other things being warmed besides…


‘Ding dong merrily on high,
In heaven the bells are ringing.
Ding dong verily the sky
Is riv'n with brats' loud singing:

Much wailing in extremis!

E'en so, here on earth below
Hard hands keep smartly swinging.
Tops get mad at behaviour bad,
So bottoms are hot and stinging!
Much wailing in extremis!’



  Merry Christmas to all and to all a goodnight 


copyright Cat 2009