Going Nativity

And lo, a star rose in the east and when the three magi saw it as one they proclaimed, “Fuck that; Mecca’s that way and they’re a right bunch of nutters!” And so it came to pass that the three wise scholars turned their backs on the east, headed west and set out to see what was up. Many days and nights did they wander onwards, their procession lit by starry nights but with no fixed direction. “Follow the moon!” said one and for three nights they travelled in a bizarre series of arcs. “Follow the North Star!” cried a second, but that brief interlude came to an end as they reached the Syrian border where, as the bible has it, “Everything was well kicking off!”

In the end they decided to rely on the donkey for directions and so, with Vince the unwilling ass leading the way, Ed Melchior Miliband, Dave Caspar Cameron and Nick Balthazar Clegg finally made meagre progress away from that portentous star. At Alexandria they boarded a creaking vessel full of Somali cultural enrichment advisors and set out on the perilous sea towards Italy where, they were assured, a warm welcome awaited them. But they managed to give the slip to the mobs of coastal dwellers who greeted them with burning brands, chanting slogans and they made their way north and into the vast European desert where, for forty days and nights they pushed on, ever westward, yet without succour in that hostile land.

Until they came upon the vast fortress of Calais. “You may not enter!” spaketh the burghers of that besieged Babel. “But we are following yonder thtar!” sayeth Melchior Miliband. The citizens, as one, pointed to the sky and asked, “What, the one behind you?” The magi paused but for a second before chorusing, “Yes!” oblivious to the ridicule that thereafter befell them. “On your bike!” spake the mayor of Calais and the great gates were closed as the natives ululated and threw bricks, as was their ancient custom. Thus it was that the three unwise men entered the kingdom of Albion clinging to the chassis of a transcontinental truck, which was more than a little tricky for the donkey.

Soon however, the companions grew cold and hungry. What was this place where unsmiling people hurried about their business and ignored their neighbours? How was it that a society so vast and bustling could survive when all harboured such suspicion of each other? The three wise men had no answers. In desperation they went in search of food and found themselves at the great temple of Tesco wherein lay wonders beyond comprehension which they set about with earnest greed.

At the checkout the stony-faced acolyte called the High Priest who arrived with two attendant security guards and wearing a badge which proclaimed ‘Manger’, for spelling was not his forte. “They haven’t any money,” the spotty youth intoned, “they’ve just got this load of crap…” at which the magi stepped forward. “I bring gold!” spake Caspar Cameron. But Melchior diggeth him in the rib and sayeth under his breath “Gordon sold all the gold! That’s just the wrapping paper from the chocolates.” He then stepped forward, “But I bring myrrh!” Not to be outdone, Balthazar Clegg also stepped up “And I bring Frankincense!”

It's traditional, innit?

The manger looked coldly at the trio, raised his arm and pointed to the doors. “Get the fuck out of my store, you crackheads!” he cried. And without ceremony, the bouncers bundled the unwise men back out into the cold. For many hours they tarried and shuffled and huddled together until finally they found themselves in the company of a sorry band of freaks. The three unwise men joined the cast of lobsters, spacemen, sheep, leeks, pixies, goblins, elves and elvises… and thus the legend of the nativity was born.