A Game of Goats

 

Dear Reader(s), there have been issues surrounding the writing of the chapter of the ‘Festival of the Goat.’ The Writer has been distracted and scuppered by petty daily annoyances involving (in no particular order): sheep and Vladimir Poo Tin’s lid, being signed up the People’s Pension against her wishes, an almond and a tooth filling, the rewriting of a Will for the sake of a £25 Marks and Spencer’s gift card, a watch battery dying at the exact point she needed that watch, chuffing thieving starlings EVERYWHERE, a previously unheard of inertia regarding when to put up the Christmas tree, AND sub-zero temperatures making sitting and writing a jolly chilly activity.

Anyway, all these things conspired to drain the creative muse from her. Just as she was beginning to lose faith in Day 19 and thinking that maybe she could use going on strike as an excuse for a blank page, she received a phone call.

Particularly observant readers amongst you might have noticed the absence of a figure who is a regular participant in the Much Malarkey Manor Christmas Stories, and that figure is Tango Pete. And, as chance (or manipulation) would have it, ‘twas Tango Pete who ‘phoned.

‘I’m glad you haven’t called upon my services for your Christmas Story this year,’ said he. ‘Only I’ve been VERY busy setting up my new business.’

‘Oh yes?’ said the Writer. ‘What business is that, then?’

‘Goats!’ said Tango Pete. ‘Actually, it’s a bit of a charity, too. I've set up a retirement home for performing goats. I’m like that place in the countryside just outside Maidstone, in Kent. The Buttercup Goat Sanctuary.’

(N.B Buttercup Goat Sanctuary is a REAL place. Check it out at buttercups.org.uk. It’s amazing. Full of goats galloping around in goat euphoria. It’s about a mile or so up the road from the Writer’s childhood home. She has visited on several occasions. She mostly avoided being stampeded by goats.)

‘Ex-performing goats, you say?’ said the Writer. ‘Actually, you might be able to help me out with the story this year. I'll make a donation, of course. Let me speak with Mrs Miggins and get back to you.’

So…Day 19 – A Game of Goats

Mrs Miggins dials the number she has been given. She is greeted by an answerphone and the following message:

‘If you need some help, and you wanna do good…who ya gonna call? GOAT BUTTERS!’

Mrs Miggins rolls her eyes. That was a bit laboured, even by the Writer’s usual standards.

‘Hello, Goat Butters Rescue, how can I help?’ says a familiar voice.

‘Tango Pete?’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘Is that you?’

‘Mrs Miggins!’ says Tango Pete. ‘The Writer said you’d call. I understand you want to hire some goats for a Yule Time festival party game?’

‘I do!’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘For tomorrow.’

‘How many do you need?’ says Tango Pete.

‘Fourteen, please,’ says Mrs Miggins.

‘No probs, dear lady,’ says Tango Pete. ‘I’ll get loading up and be with you before breakfast.’

Because yes – things can and do happen that quickly if you leave Mr Procrastinator in his basket and crack on with the jobs list in hand.

At breakfast on Yule Goat Festival Day, the paddock at the back of the Manor is filled with goats numbering way more than fourteen.

‘I thought you said forty,’ says Tango Pete. ‘Soz.’

Mrs Miggins looks at the plan for her Yule Time Goat Game. ‘I suppose we could extend the game to the village,’ she says. ‘My original plan was to play it in the Manor only, but we could include more people with more goats.’

‘That’s the spirit!,’ says Tango Pete. ‘Every cloud and silver linings, eh? What are the rules of the game?’

‘Well,’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘You take a goat and you hide it in someone’s house without them noticing. It’s a game of subterfuge, cunning and stealth.’

‘Sounds like a firm of solicitors,’ says Tango Pete. ‘Ahahahahahahaha!’

‘It’s a traditional Yule game of olde worlde times,’ says Mrs Miggins.

‘Very odd,’ says Tango Pete. ‘But I’m sure the goats will love it! What’s the prize for breaking and entering a friend’s house and leaving a goat in their living room?’

‘The satisfaction that you’ve achieved such an idiot goal?’ suggests Mrs Miggins. ‘But I do have some standby rounds of goats’ cheese. Just in case of complainants.’

Honestly, this was an ACTUAL game. Try it. The Writer would be interested to know how you get on. However, she would like to point out that she would be MOST unhappy to find a goat in her own home. Just saying.