By Dick Richards

‘Oy,’ he shouted up the stairs. ‘Sounds as though Caesar Augustus has got his knickers in a twist again. He’s had another of his bloody brainstorms, a new decree. We’ve all got to go down to Bethlehem to be censured or something. And cough up the dues to the Inland Revenue of course. Darned PAYE. Better get your suitcase packed.’

She was livid. Nazareth to Bethlehem, days on the road, on an old donkey, and her in this condition. No Intercity Bus link, and forget Southern Rail of which least said the better. Flaming unions. And gullible old Joseph, knowing him who could guess what kind of a place he’d have booked them into when they got there, if he’d remembered at all. Decent carpenter he might be, but he was getting on a bit.

Whinge, whinge, whinge. Not her idea of the best way to spend Christmas. Never should have sold that old Ford banger after all.

She knew it. She’d known it all along. She was as stiff as a new boot. Tummy full to bursting, and that wasn’t all that was full. A knock on the door of Uncle Arimathea’s favourite hostelry and what did they get? A welcome and a come-on-in? Not a bit of it. No room at the inn. That’s what. That was all she needed. A little kip, a hot tub and some clean kit. And where was she now? In a little room off the back yard. A straw mattress. The donkey snoozing in one corner. Pigeons under the eaves, droppings everywhere. A couple of heifers chewing the cud. And she was starving. What a dump.

She wasn’t the only one feeling a shade curmudgeonly. Up on the hill a group of shepherds, Barak, Benjie, Cain and Moshe were watching over their flocks in case anyone slipped over the border to try a spot of rustling, lamb being around 16 euros a kilo. They were hard pressed to get any peace what with the racket coming up from the overcrowded town below. They’d just finished their second bottle of Jack Daniels and were settling down when this odd cove turned up with a flash of coloured fairy-lights. More suited to a fringe gig at the Edinburgh Festival, really but pretty scary. He gave them a big spiel about a miraculous happening going on at that very moment down in the village. And as if that wasn’t enough, no sooner had he finished than they saw lots of other people shouting and singing, like Saturday night down at The Frog and Orange.

Anyway, down they all went on the ski-lift, the piste being officially closed by Health and Safety after dark. There, sure enough, was a new arrival all wrapped in swaddling bands and lying in a manger. Much sobered they went back up to do whatever they usually did with their flocks by night.

Meanwhile three wizened looking old fogies turned up on camels having come from somewhere in the East End. They’d obviously been out in the sun rather too long and were going on about stars moving and kings getting born. The cops ran a quick make on them and gave them the usual drunk-in-charge-of-camels breathalyser tests. ‘We can’t hold them,’ was the opinion but it was suggested the Inland Revenue and Customs people be alerted. The local Psychiatric Officer wanted to section them but as NHS beds were all full of blotto alcoholics it was decided to humour them while they handed over some joint Christmas-and-Birthday combined presents. Cheapskates. Age Concern issued some warm clothing and they were given free Underground tickets home.

No sooner were they gone, camels and all, than she said ‘I think you should stash the gold away for a rainy day, but what on earth is all this other weird stuff they’ve given us? Should we cook it d’you suppose, or just give to someone or other for New Year?’

It was then that Joseph told her the latest. ‘Look ,’ he said. ‘I’ve got some good news and I’ve got some bad news. The bad news is from the palace, there’s a bit of a scare on firstborns that might be coming our way. The good news is that we could split for Egypt while the going’s good, and I’ve got cheapo Easyjet tickets.’

He saddled up the donkey and they set off for the airport before sunup, with her whining about getting lousy Egyptian food for the next year, and the nipper still in those swaddling clothes, whatever they are.

And to this day none of them were ever heard of again.