A Christmas Tale...

Badger threw another log on to the fire and watched contentedly as a flurry of red and gold sparks flew up the chimney and disappeared out into the cold night air. Up above, in the wet and windy Wild Wood, the wind howled around the skeletal forms of the trees driving the snow into deep drifts. It was a hard winter, the worst for many tears.

Snug in the sett, Badger poured himself a second glass of fine malt whisky and settled back in his favourite leather chair to listen to the gramophone. Hardly had the last notes of Elgar’s Cello Concerto died away when there came a faint ‘knock knock’ at the door.

“I wonder who that can be?” thought Badger as he hopped of the chair and wandered over to the door. “It’s a rough night to be out in the Wild Wood and that’s for certain.”

The door creaked eerily on its hinges¹ as Badger opened it and peered out into the night. There on the doorstep, illuminated by the light cast by the jar of glow-worms hanging from a hook over the porch², stood a young woman, a very pregnant young woman, wearing only a thin t-shirt and a black leather mini skirt to protect her against the cold. “Must be from the council estate down the road,” thought Badger to himself, but he didn’t say it out aloud.

“Hello, young lady,” said Badger, “What are you doing out all alone on a horrible night like this?”

“Oh, Mr Badger,” said the girl, “I was wandering through this wood when I saw the light from your house and I wondered if you could help me. I live in a bedsit just down the road but my dole cheque was lost in the post and so I was thrown out of the B&B. I’ve been trying to find somewhere to stay but no-one will take me in — even the hospital didn’t have a bed for the night and my baby is due any day now. I was in the B&B in the first place because we got evicted from our council house for not paying the poll tax. I really have nobody to help me at all.”

“Why that’s terrible,” said Badger, who was deeply moved by her story, even more so as he recalled something similar happening once before. “Things like this shouldn’t be allowed to happen, especially not at this time of year. Do come into the sett right away and have a bowl of soup.”

With that, Badger led the way in and sat the girl by the fire to warm up whilst he busied himself in the kitchen. Within a few minutes he had opened one of his Fortnum and Mason hampers³ and prepared a nice bowl of venison broth that, served with a crusty wholemeal roll and a glass of cabernet sauvignon, was quickly downed by the girl. Especially the cabernet sauvignon.

As the evening progressed Badger, who by now had established the girl was called Sharon, learned more of her story. Even more importantly, he recognised that her baby was due soon, very soon, and thus wisely took the precaution of calling upon his private health insurance⁴ and arranging for a midwife to pop round to the sett. That night, as Badger sat at the control console in his study manoeuvring a Korporashun Kommunications satellite into geo-stationary orbit over Wild Wood, a hearty cry from the spare bedroom told him that a baby had been born. Badger had a plan.

As dawn rose (long before Sharon did), Badger was busy on the telephone, arranging appointments and calling in favours. It might have been Christmas Day but the finely honed machine that was Badger Korporashun slipped effortlessly into gear.

By breakfast time, things were well underway. Over a bowl of porridge, Badger enquired of Sharon as to whose name should appear as the father on the birth certificate — one of the Korporashun’s legal weasels was standing by (on a handsome retainer it has to be said) to register the birth at the Town Hall that very morning. That, it seemed, was a bit of a problem. No, not getting the Town Hall to open, after all, with the money that Badger Korporashun paid in taxes and sundry other fees to the mayor and his colleagues getting a few favours done, even on Christmas Day, was never a problem.

Badger thought it a little indelicate to pry too deeply, but quickly ascertained that there were reasons for believing that Sharon’s current boyfriend, Joe, might not actually be the father. Not that Joe seemed to be around at the moment anyway. There was a chance it might have been Kevin, or possibly Wayne — Sharon’s recollection of events at her engagement party (to a Dave somebody or other) were a little hazy. In the end, Badger decided that, as it was St. Nicolas’ Day, it would be as well to instruct Messrs Mustelid and Mustelid to register the father as “Nick”. After all, with lawyers as good⁵ as Mustelid and Mustelid on call, getting changes made later if necessary wouldn’t be a problem.

The baby’s name? Well, that too took a little thinking about. At first Sharon seemed to have little better idea than to call it ‘the sprog’, and a few other names that Badger didn’t feel were entirely in keeping with the season of supposed good will — and certainly not the sort of names that the Registrar was likely to permit to appear on a Birth Certificate. However, just as the baby looked about to be saddled with the name “Will Beatmaster DeCaprio Beckham”, Badger looked over into the cot, tickled the little chap affectionately under the chin, and made a suggestion.

“Why,” he said,” don’t you choose a nice classy name? One that will mark him out as someone special. Leave it to me if you like and I’ll sort something out.⁶ Now, let’s talk about his future. It’s lucky that you were wandering by the sett last night. We at the Korporashun had been thinking about how we can become a more integral part of the community and I’ve had an idea. Perhaps we could sponsor this little chappie and ensure he gets off to a good start in life. Pay his school fees and things like that.” Sharon seemed interested, even if she wasn’t entirely au fait with the concept of paying school fees. Or maybe it was just the concept of schooling in general.

“Of course,” Badger continued, “there would be a payment or two for you as well, not to mention a few appearances on tv and articles in magazines like Hello and Marie-Claire. Full colour, I expect, and with an allowance for dresses. Maybe even an account at Argos and Next.” Sharon seemed to think that was a very good idea, especially when Badger suggested that the Korporashun might be able to run to a couple of tickets for “Westlife” and a fortnight in Ibiza every year. A deal was quickly struck, and Badger threw in a flat over the hairdresser’s for goodwill.

At that point, just as Sharon was wondering if the fortnight in Ibiza included a tab at the bar, they were interrupted by a knock at the door. Badger went to answer it and was soon ushering three smartly suited men into the drawing room. “These,” he said to Sharon, (who had a feeling she vaguely recognised at least one or maybe more of them) “are a few employees of the Korporashun. They felt it would only be neighbourly to pop over and see our, er, new investment. Oh, and they’ve brought a couple of presents too. It is Christmas after all. Now, George, what have you brought ?”

Well George as it turned out was something of a traditionalist and had intended to bring some gold. Unfortunately, Elizabeth Dukes had been closed and so, in a flash of inspiration, George had decided that a few shares in Global Oil Inc was the next best thing and launched into an interesting (if somewhat perplexing) speech about black gold and the new economy. Fortunately, George’s friend Tony offered to translate and launched into an eloquent and deeply moving eulogy about the virtues of this and that and how everything was now going to get better. Eventually Tony concluded, saying that though, for circumstances totally beyond his control, he hadn’t actually got a present for anyone today, he would be back to deliver later. Sharon meanwhile was still trying to figure out who the vaguely familiar third person was but in the end it didn’t seem to matter: after a brief chat with Badger all three of them left and so she didn’t need to admit she hadn’t a clue who they were. Still, they looked important and she did manage a smile when Badger joked that it was just like having a visit from the three wise men. Of course, she may just have been relieved that no court appearances had been required — which was the association she usually made with the unexpected appearance of men in suits.

The rest of Badger’s morning seemed to be taken up with an endless stream of phone calls and emails, though he did make sure that Sharon was comfortable in front of the TV and even had a pizza brought in for her at lunchtime. Nothing, it seemed, was too much trouble. The baby was being cared for by the midwife who, it transpired, was also a fully qualified nanny with impeccable credentials from the Home Office.⁷

Shortly before three pm, Badger disappeared into the study to take an important and apparently private phone call. When he emerged half an hour later, Badger was full of smiles and said that Lizzie passed on her good wishes to Sharon and the baby but, before Sharon could enquire as to who Lizzie was there came another knock at the door.

“Busier than Piccadilly Circus this is,” said Badger, scurrying to answer it and pretending not to hear Sharon’s query about whether Piccadilly Circus was going to be on TV as she “just loved those performing poodles.” In any case, Badger had had quite enough of Tony for one day, Christmas or not.

A few minutes later Badger returned to the lounge where Sharon was helping herself to a vodka and orange from the drinks cabinet. “Just like Christmas in the old days,” said Badger. “Well almost. Not quite shepherds calling this time but a few horsemen. It seems they were out having an afternoon ride when they spotted the satellite overhead and decided to come and pay us a visit. Don’t mind if they pop in to the nursery and take a peek at the baby do you?”

“Whatever,” said Sharon, barely looking up from the Christmas edition of I’m a Nonentity, get me a chat show! and only vaguely pondering who Badger’s latest visitors might be. What had he called them? The Norsemen of the Acropolis? Whoever they were, they wouldn’t knock Will Young of the top spot.

Still, thought Sharon, the sett wasn’t a bad place to spend Christmas: the drinks cabinet was well stocked and it did have a 42” plasma screen television. Sky too — well, Badger had mentioned something about satellite anyway. Oh and yes, the baby wasn’t much of a problem either. Whatever Badger decided the name was going to be. He was being looked after by the nanny somewhere. Wouldn’t be getting under her feet. Cramping her life. Yes, she’d show everyone that had sneered at her when she became pregnant. Who was laughing now? Oh no, her life hadn’t been ruined. She could still go out clubbing whenever she wanted. The nanny would look after the sprog.

Epilogue

Time passes. Sharon made a few appearances on the shopping channel extolling the virtues of Korporashun Investment Plans and then had her own mini-series on daytime tv doing garden shed makeovers. Obviously, Badger and the Korporashun continue to thrive and are now reportedly the largest unlisted company in the world. And the baby? Well, he’s now about to start at Eton and already has a place allocated at Meles College, Oxford,⁸ followed by a scholarship to Harvard Business School thereafter. Yes, young Damien is being groomed for a great future with the Korporashun.

*

¹The hinges weren’t rusty, in fact they were quite well oiled, but Badger rather liked the eerie sound of a good squeaky hinge and so had the door rigged up via a micro-switch to small hidden speaker which could play a selection of sound effects.
²The sett was actually well equipped with electricity and all other mod cons, but Badger rather liked the effect of a jar of glow-worms over the door in preference to the harsh glare of halogen security lighting. It complimented the squeaky hinge nicely.
³Badger would of course normally have used fresh ingredients for the food rather than resorting to tinned goods but, it being Christmas, Fortnum and Mason’s daily delivery service was suspended for the holiday period.
⁴Badger Korporashun is widely regarded as providing an industry leading benefits package to its employees. Well, the non-‘ooman employees anyway.
⁵And as expensive.
⁶Badger did sort things out, quickly. Within an hour, a pristine birth certificate was delivered by courier, the ink – an odd reddish brown colour – still not quite dry. Badger popped it in the safe for, well, safekeeping.
⁷Badger did briefly consider trying to correct Sharon’s misconception that the Home Office was a merger of Habitat and Mothercare but realised that he might be flogging a dead horse.
⁸Badger is particularly fond of the Oxford comma: so much so that the Korporashun provided funds for a new college to be built and set up a (tax deductible) charitable trust to pay for its upkeep in perpetuity.

Previously

• Spam saves badgers from starvation
• Ron Davies 'livid' over badger allegations
• Enjoy our Rockall Fusion Xmas Cuisine