A Bit of vava-voom in Dundee…?

Oe-la-la…oui, mes amis…ziz wazz zat time of ze year again. The arsenic-ridden ghost of Napolean Bonaparte came to Dundee and met Marie Antoinette at the gate. The Prince Imperial’s ghost was standing on the other side, insisting entrance and laughing at the tour guides which he was going to avoid so deftly. Est-ce que vous me comprenez? The gatekeeper, Uncle Ivan, unfortunately lost his remote in the dark, and could not open the gate, while the booing jesters parade at the other end of the gate started swilling all the red wine, the thirsty sods.

Uncle Ivan almost had to pay with his head for it. But, wait for it, I am getting ahead of myself. Marie Antoinette came sweeping into the fray with her pink and red ball gown and slippers and insisted that he must be saved from the guillotine. Sint Michael and the Brotherhood of Froth Blowers set up shop at one corner of the ball, while the Final Republic of France were slowly being invaded by the Ghosts of Ages past. These silly old buggers in their redcoats had no idea that they lost the war against the King more than a hundred years ago, but they were probably still looking for their regimental colours. They did find the red wine, though, and Lord Fallstaff complained about the funny little tins of fuzzy black drink that were too small. He had to take two of them to make his Horsedoogie Whiskey taste like anything, the poor man. In the meantime, the people of France started storming the vin de la maison and Sint Michael had to keep all his wits about him to keep the tally.

In the front Madame Thenardier and Marie Antoinette, entertaining the masses with their dazzling wit and rolling repartee, were dishing out favours to ticket-winning members of the Palace Guard. On the ceiling, three flies, Zabanga, Langalibalele and Gwabakana were admonishing the ghost of Louis on the advantages of mounting a horse correctly. Especially if it was on the run. His granddaddy, Napoleon, looked at all the redcoats below on the dance floor and got a strange glint in his ghostly eye. He took another swig from his arsenic bottle and called Louis a traitor.

Napoleon: You arhg a traitor, canaille!
Louis: You drink poison, you dictator!
Napoleon: I am your grandfazzer!
Louis: I am lost…Where iz my horse…une cheval, anyone?
Napoleon: Zey named a route after you…
Louis: OUI, and don’t you forget it.
Napoleon: Merde! Go mow ze lohn!

At that point George Mitchell called them to attention, hoisted Le Tricolore, and went back to his double brandy and coke. The masses were fed for another year, the ghosts laid to rest, feathers ruffled and the Republic restored.