Once upon a time, in a land beyond the sea, there lived a man and his wife. They lived in a house with each other, in a small village that had a name that I can’t remember. They were very happy together in their house because they had several rooms, including a toilet. All of the rooms had doors, which was good because it meant that they could go in and out of all the rooms in the house. Not at the same time, of course, they would have to be multi-dimensional creatures or made out of jelly to be able to do that.

The man had a name, which I also can’t remember. Let’s call him Bill, because that’s as good a name as any. Actually, I think his name really was Bill. Yes, it was, I remember now. Bill, short for Belinda. And she was Julie! Or was it Felicity? Let’s call her Julie.

Bill and Julie lived happily in their house for many years, opening and closing doors, going to the toilet, sometimes going outside to see if their garden was still where it used to be.

Until one day, of course, something happened that made their lives less enjoyable and less simple than what it had been. I can’t remember what it was exactly, but Bill and Julie weren’t very happy, that was clear. One or other of them slammed a door, as I recall. I don’t know which door, they had quite a choice, but I think they picked a particularly slammable one. Probably the front bedroom, that had a really BIG door.

When all you have is doors, all you need is hinges

Bill and Julie weren’t alone with their slamming urges. All of the villagers in whatever-it-was-called had been affected by the same effect. For several nights, including during the day, there was a quite a riot of door-slamming. Sometimes, villagers would go to their neighbours’ houses when they’d had enough of slamming their own doors, just so that they’d have a new door to slam. Things were getting out of hand and very noisy.

There was a church in the village, and the vicar was called Robert. Or Sally. The vicar noticed all the banging and slamming, and realised there was only one thing for it. An exoskeleton. He’d seen the film, with Lionel Blair and Maxi Priest, so he knew how this would go down. He just needed some little bottles of water, a purple ribbon, and a working knowledge of the book of all things (Roget’s Thesaurus).

The reverend Victor – oh yes, of course, that was his name! It always made me laugh. Victor the Vicar! Anyway, the reverend Victor sallied forth, armed with his little bottles of water, a purple sash and a copy of Roget’s Thesaurus. He headed directly for the centre of the village, which wasn’t far as the village had built up around the church.

He stood outside the church gates and raised his hands high into the air.

‘Oh mighty something something,’ he said. I can’t remember the actual words, it’s been a while. ‘Bring down your holy stockings of remembrance and fealty, and share with your heathen-bound children the light of goodness and salivation. Yea, but you and your thingy with the stuff you do is the only hope they have until now. Oh yea.’

It was a mighty speech and it got all the villagers out onto the green real quick. Bill and Julie were right at the front of the crowd, and there must have been nearly twenty all told. Probably nearer fifteen. It was a lot for that time on a Friday night.

Is This The End?

‘Evening vicar,’ asked Julie.

‘Child, what ails thee,’ answered the man of the cloth.

‘You leave her out of this,’ said Bill. ‘All this door slamming is just a bit more than we can take, and we can normally take a lot. What do you intend to do about it is all I’m really trying to ask?’

The vicar looked at Bill. And he looked at Julie. And he looked at the other villagers, and he recognised some of them. There was Sandra. No, Samantha. Or was it Susan? And Keith. Or Ken. And Mike and the other Ken, who wasn’t Ken. Oh, he might have been. He had the funny moustache. Always made me laugh, Ken with the ‘tache! No, that was Adam and the goatee beard, Adam and the Goatee! Ha!! Or was that Felix, with the funny toe?

Vicar wotsit looked at them all, and knew them all. Sort of. And he said to them ‘have faith my children, and we shall overcome. Gather ye round me. Not too close, I’ve got sore hassocks.’

The villagers formed a circle around the vicar. Probably more of a rectangle actually, there were some fence posts in the way, so not everybody could stand where they wanted. In fact, old Mrs Knee moved so far out of the circle/rectangle that she fell down a well shaft. Nobody noticed though because she was a very quiet woman and it’s a long way down, so you would barely even notice the thud when, or if, she hit the bottom.

The Flour Of Chris Impales Thee

‘Don’t worry,’ said the reverend vicar, ‘I’ve done a million of these exfoliations. Well, not literally, but a lot. Believe in each other, believe in ourselves, and believe in the holy word of Roget, and we will triumph, win, succeed, carry the day, prevail.’

He handed out the little bottles of water to each of the villagers and showed them how to take the tops off. And he showed them how to shake the bottles properly so that the water would splash out in a particular direction. They needed to aim that water at the evil presence as soon as it appeared in their rectangular circle.

Now all they had to do was wait.

I think they’re still there.

The door slamming has stopped though, so I think I can get a good night’s sleep at last.