A Selhurst Christmas Carol

December 17 2007

Palace Christmas Carol

A scintillating and thought-provoking pantomime is set to pull 'em in at the Holmesdale Theatre this festive season. Preview by Jamesey.

ACT 1

In the darkened auditorium a sepulchral voice intones: "Noadesey was as dead as a doornail."

The curtain rises and we see the chairman's office at Selhurst Park, SE25.

Two men are visible. One, Terry Byfield Cratchit, is counting wads of money at a desk while the other, Ebenezer Jordan, is pacing the carpet, twirling his orange coiffure, and smiling to himself.

He turns to the audience. "Did you hear that? Well, Jacob Noadesey ain't exactly dead but he might as well be coz I got the club and the freehold now. Heh heh heh..."

"Excuse me, sir," says the timid Cratchit, "would it be at all possible for me to go home now? It is Christmas Eve and all my family are waiting to celebrate the occasion. Of course, you would be welcome to join us for Christmas dinner tomorrow."

Ebenezer turns furiously on his employee. "Bah humbug, Christmas is a fraud. And don't ask me to help the poor - shiftless, lazy and workshy. Send 'em to the workhouses."

He turns towards the audience. "Don't you agree?"

Audience: "Boo, hiss, boo, hiss."

Behind Ebenezer a pantomime horse has appeared.

Audience: "Ebenezer, look behind you."

Ebenezer: "Look behind me? Why? I didn't get to be a self-made millionaire at 30 by looking behind me."

The pantomime horse approaches Ebenezer.

"Good evening, chairman, Shefki Kuqi here," says the front end.

"Good evening, chairman, Ade Akinbiyi here," says the rear end.

"Well, I'll be ****ed. Two of the biggest and most expensive donkeys ever, pretending to be a horse. Get out of it." Her kicks the rear end, the animal whinnies and exits left.

Audience: "Boo, hiss, boo, hiss."

Ebenezer: "Shut it, you slags. And Cratchit, finish off those accounts before you go home or I'll cut your wages again."

He winks at the audience. " That Cratchit, a right pillock, inne?"

Audience: "Oh no he isn't."

Ebenezer: "Oh yes he is."

Audience: "Oh no he isn't."

Ebenezer: "Oh yes he is."

CURTAIN

ACT 2

Ebenezer Jordan enters his humble lodgings in Whitehorse Road. He feels uneasy. Everywhere he looks he sees the ghost of Jacob Noadesey, wrapped in chains.

Noadesey: "Repent Ebenezer, your miserliness and contempt for humanity will condemn you to walk the earth in chains like me. I had no time for good deeds; all I pursued was money. You still have time to repent."

Noadesey's ghost rattles his chains and disappears.

Ebenezer puts all this down to indigestion and goes to bed.

At midnight a terrifying vision appears. A procession of hideous spectres shuffles across the bedroom, all rattling chains and moaning. They look like Steve Coppell, Alan Smith, Steve Bruce, Trevor Francis, Steve Kember, Iain Dowie and Peter Taylor.

They chant: "We are the ghosts of Christmas past. Beware Ebenezer. Do good upon this earth."

They disappear.

Ebenezer is shaken but falls back to sleep, only to be awakened again by a spirit in a fur-lined green coat.

"Ee oop, Ebenezer, I am the ghost of Christmas present. Neil Warnock - or Colin as some of those disrespectful barstards call me - at your service."

He grins at Ebenezer. "Ignorance and Want are the enemies of us all, Eb. Don't let them win."

Neil turns towards the audience and winks.

"If any of you are Ignorant of the fact that my autobiography "Made in Sheffield" is available at all major book outlets and want to buy a copy, I suggest you act quickly while stocks still last."

Audience: "Oh no we won't."

The final shock for Ebenezer is the appearance of a grim figure in black.

"Omygawd," says Ebenezer, "I suppose you are the ghost of Christmas future, come to tell me to change my ways or die a lonely, miserable and friendless death?"

He turns to the audience. "Surely I don't deserve that?"

Audience: "Oh yes you do."

CURTAIN

ACT 3

It is Boxing Day in the chairman's office at Selhurst Park, SE25.

Ebenezer is looking at his watch when Terry Cratchit enters looking shame-faced,

"Very sorry, chairman. I know I am late but my little boy, Tiny Tim, is terminally ill and I was up all night comforting him."

"That just isn't good enough, Cratchit. I am afraid I must again revise your wages - from £40k to £100k," says a beaming Ebenezer.

"Er what, sir?" says the dumbfounded Terry.

"Merry Christmas, Terry," say smiling Ebenezer. "Just a little jest. And a happy and prosperous new year.

"Before anything else, Terry, I would like you to expedite the following actions."

He recites: