“You want me to join your gang?” he gasped.

“It’s not a gang” I stressed. “It’s a club – more of a committee actually.”

“But you do heroic things?”

“Oh yes but they are secondary to the efficient running of the club. We have meetings every third Tuesday except in July when Ian Devine goes to his private Greek island – Pi – to sun bathe.”

“Do you have exciting adventures?”

“We have a rota for minute taking at the regular meetings – you will, unfortunately, not be allowed to take notes for at least a year as it is a highly sought after position.”

“Will I be in great danger?”

“Only if you wear beige around Ian Devine. When he puts his contact lenses in wrongly he often mistakes beige objects for something more nutritious.”

“I heard you foiled a dastardly plot to rig the Miss Firkinside Pageant.”

“That’s true but far more interesting is our six stage voting system for all major policy decisions…”

“I’m in – I’ve always wanted to join a gang.”

“Club.”

“I’ve always wanted to join a club. Or just join in, really.”

“Could you – and this may sound an odd request but I assure you it is quite sensible – say something to that effect into my ear?”

“This is the best Christmas present I have ever had” enthused Nigel.

“Ok, Mr Brent, I take your point” muttered Mr Grade, unbeknownst to young Nigel.

“In that case, it is with great pleasure that I officially give you provisional associate membership of the society.”

“Lend you provisional associate membership of the society”

“I gladly accept” said Nigel, “as long as there isn’t a messy initiation ceremony involved.”

“We are sensible telehistorians” reminded him.

“Of course.”

Everything was going spectacularly well for Dennis as I rode back to Brent Towers. I had gifts for Ian Devine, Wicks, Grantham, Donald Brent, Felicity Bobbins and now my Father. Only mother remained a problem (which is, wittily, the story of my life). I guessed that mother’s butler would be at the Annual Bendaton Servants Shindig at the Town Hall (a Christmas Eve tradition since 1591) so Mother’s house would be unguarded. This was my best chance to get to see the old… mother.

I knocked on the door.

“There’s no one in” called Mother. I could smell the sherry from outside the house.

“It’s your son” I said cunningly. She opened the door, embraced me and sobbed “Donald”.

“Dennis actually” I replied. She pushed me away with the disgust that a sensible person would display if they asked for a collectors edition DVD and were instead presented with an NTSC standard VHS cassette.

“Go away, Clarence” she wailed. “I want my Donald. He’s charming.”

“I’m charming” I lied.

“What do you want, Clarence? I’m busy.”

“I’m here to make festive enquiries.”

“You can’t come here for dinner tomorrow – I’m entertaining my bondage circle and there are no spare seats.”

“I’m not angling for dinner – Ian Devine has already offered to cook a twelve course dinner for myself, Wicks, Grantham and Felicity Bobbins.”

“Strumpet.”

“No – turkey. So I’m more than taken care of. What I was wondering what whether there was anything… small… anything that I could get you for Christmas?”

“Is this a trick? Is the intention that you come round here tomorrow, bringing your gratuity with you and ‘accidentally’ drink too much of my imported sherry and ‘have’ to stay for dinner?”

“No, mother.”

“Because I should warn you that it’s going to be a packed house – I’ve invited five of my friends from the bondage club and they’ll all no doubt be bringing slaves with them.”

“Mother – I do not want to come here for Christmas dinner. I want to give you something nice for Christmas, for God’s sake.”

“Clarence – boys who shout at mummy do not get any pudding” she scolded.

“I apologise” I told her. “But I really need to give you something that you want. Tell me what you want, mother, and I’ll give it to you.” I was aware that I was becoming a little desperate.

“I don’t understand” she said.

“I want to give you something you’ll enjoy… let me give it to you…”

At that moment a friend of mother’s came in to the room, gave me a very peculiar look, picked up a handful of marzipan covered nuts and tried to creep out without being noticed.

“What do you really want, mother?”

“Anything?”

“Anything” I said foolishly.

“I want to stay young forever. I never want to age again.”

“Gotcha” said Mr Grade triumphantly. “New rule – we can only accept the contestant’s first answer.”

18:59:58

18:59:59