Crispy The Christmas Clown: One Year On

Hollyhocks and Boon, terrored through the twilight, was afire and aglow, blazing away from the delicate touch of burning peasant torches. The werewolf landlord, trapped inside with his old regulars the Mistletoe Twins and Half Barry, screamed the last of his lungs and vowed a certain type of Christmas vengeance to be visited upon said peasants in future years to come. At the same time, outside in the snow, Crispy the Christmas Clown caught those vows, juggled them with an abandon that suggested equal measures of skill and confidence, and threw them deep into the bowels of his reddest Christmas sack.

In the previous days, in the moments leading up to this pyromanic parade, Crispy had been engaged in the pre-preparation preparations indulged in by Santa and his eight mordant elves. After last year’s rescue mission, whereby Crispy saved the day through the last minute delivery of presents, glad tidings and unspeakable horror to boys and girls worldwide, Santa had judged it only fair that Crispy should, for a time, enjoy the spoils of being his number one helper. And boy, did he enjoy them. All the brandy curls and cokes he could drink, endless mince pies, the finest sprinkling of the finest sparkling glitter and the company of a certain gang of female elves who were small and big in all the right places. No wonder Crispy glowed so.

But with Crispy out of the festive picture, so to speak, our werewolf landlord, in full cahoots with his resident regulars (the likes of Sooty and Snow, Sid Sleigh and his gorgeous wife Giddyup, Sancho Hup, Dave and Ansel Collins and the aforementioned - and now burning - figures of the Mistletoe Twins and Half Barry) took it upon himself to more regularly change into his wolfish aspect in order to gain a tighter rule over the village through his unadulterated lycanthropic terror. That is, he tore through the village late at night, ripping at throats, laughing at authority and touching the ladies. What a life. And his plan may well have succeeded were it not for the unwitting, though timely, intervention of our real hero, a certain Crispy the Christmas Clown, who responded, unwillingly, to the desperate cries and calls of the mere citizens and chattel of the village. Why did Crispy do his duty? Because Santa told him to.

Now, with his adventures already the stuff of legend, it was but a small leap for Crispy to surround himself with his likely crew of elves, reindeer and other hardy bods from in and around Santa’s workshop and factory. These elves, equipped with specialist low stature skills, quickly took on board personal bodyguard status, willing and able to take a bullet, or a fang, should the occasion arise. The reindeer, minus Rudolph but consisting of Prancer, Dancer, Duncan and Heartache, told Crispy that they too would leap in the way of bullets and fangs but would also be better employed as navigators, sleighpullers and hoof stompers. And so, with all these folk and figures in tow, Crispy the Christmas Clown set off from Lapland with the sincere best wishes (and secret good riddances) of Santa and his jolly wife, Muscatel, ringing hard and fair in his snowy white ears. Goodbye yon Crispy! they cried, goodbye you grotesque clown!

Having heard of Crispy’s imminent departure and plans, the werewolf landlord of the Hollyhocks and Boon took himself out into the glassy black night and gazed up at the moon in order to affect the appropriate werewolf change. Which is to say that he stepped outside as a man and returned, minutes later, as a fully-fledged werewolf. Not great news for Crispy, and not great news for the regulars who, as often happened when he made this change, had to flee for what was left of their wretched and worthless lives. Get at you! shouted the werewolf landlord as he tore open the yellowing throats of Sooty and Snow, Sid Sleigh and his gorgeous wife Giddyup, Sancho Hup and Dave and Ansel Collins. Boo!

By the time Crispy and his merry band of elves, reindeer and spazzers alighted upon the roof of the Hollyhocks and Boon, only the werewolf landlord, the Mistletoe Twins and Half Barry were there to greet them. Ha! thought Crispy, I’ll soon have those rascals up in the air screaming from fear! But when he reached down to grab them he was surprised to discover that they had nailed themselves to the floor in order to avoid any likely grabbing scenario. Curses. Which was why, instead, Crispy emptied his diesel-filled bladder into the chimney and watched with glee as the encroaching peasant villagers put their flaming torches to the windows of the Hollyhocks and Boon. Boom, as they say, and Crispy, his elves, the reindeer and the spazzers were thrown from the roof to rain down like snow (or snow down like rain) on to the surrounding white carpet of the pub’s fair grounds. Curses, vows and screams from within. Crispy laughing and catching without, his bright red sack a net of fine distinction. Hurrah! cried those villagers, he has saved our worthless and wretched lives!

And so Christmas was saved once more. And once more Crispy the Christmas Clown had to deal with the peasant adulation and praise that was now grist to his manky, ungrateful mill.