On that fatefully day in December when he'd been suspended Pawser decided that he was not going to tell Penny what had happened. Over the long summer and autumn Pawser had put up with the nauseous Pie Gobbler and his regular visits but when he told Penny that he'd decided to take extra leave over the Christmas period it was evident that the smooth workings of their little illicit world had been upset. He heard Penny whispering over the phones minutes after, no doubt to old fatty laying out new plan to circumnavigate this terrible inconvenience.

Pawser thought that over Christmas, the suspension issue might just die away and he might be absolved and cleared. Then again, Mephistopheles might just keel over and die and end up soaking up the gravy in a thousand French pies. Chance would be a fine thing.

'Pawser, don't forget it's the Yule tonight. You are coming aren't you? Oh and something came in the post this morning for you,' Penny was sitting at the kitchen table with the sewing machine tacking up a large piece of white sheet. She held up some coat hangers, 'Could you make some wings and a halo out of this then I'll wrap some tinsel around it. Its angels and demons this year.'

Pawser went to the bureau and opened the envelope Penny had left for him there. It contained a short type written missive from the office saying that his 'hearing' would be held early in the New Year by an independent review board. The little pre-printed booklet that accompanied it described the procedure to be followed and the possible outcomes that ranged from censorship, through to loss of position to life imprisonment. The life imprisonment had been underlined twice in red wavy lines. Along the bottom ran a short epistle in large red curly writing, 'And a Merry Christmas to youand Mrs Bingham.' Pawser recognised it as Jocko's. He stuffed the letter in his pocket and went back to the kitchen.

'Anything important?' asked Penny absentmindedly, carefully stitching away at her sheet.

'Not really,' replied Pawser picking up the coat hangers. He took some tinsel from the kitchen table and slipped through the back door to the shed to knock up the wings and a halo.

****

The Sleepless Owl was packed with angels and demons in preparation for the Yule which would start at eight pm prompt. Pawser pushed through the noisy crowd in search of his drinking partner Earl Lovegod, a retired snail poacher from Bansted but was disappointed to find he was not there. Having secured himself a pint of bitter and a shot of whisky at the crowded bar he sat alone on a wooden stool in the snug reflectively sipping his pint whilst rereading the letter from Jocko. At this stage he was not sure what he could do. With Jocko on his case it would take nothing less than a miracle to stop him getting kicked out of MI5. He'd have to tell Penny soon, but she was bound to tell the gloating Nobby and that was more than he could stand.

About quarter to eight the pub began to empty and he joined the mob as they rambled across to the high street their voices raised high on alcohol and Christmas spirit. The road was already busy with people, two special constables with red tridents walked to and fro to and jovially poked at crowd to keep them on the pavement. Intermittently everyone broke into a poor rendition of Jingle Bells to keep up their festive spirits.

At five minutes past eight a cheer erupted from the far end of the high street that signified the procession had started. Pawser heaved himself up on top of the post-box for a better view.

The clattering noise of hoofs echoed down between the buildings and preceded the arrival of the village hunt who traditionally headed the procession. As they hove into view Pawser's heart sunk, for it was headed by none other than the odious Nobby astride the demonic Mephistopheles. Mephistopheles skittishly danced across the road alarmed by the sight of the enthusiastic revellers either side of the street. Nobby wrestled with the reigns shouting 'Steady! Steady!' in an attempt to reassure Mephistopheles.

Nobby, attired in his hunting gear, which Pawser assumed he probably slept in, for he rarely saw him without it, had applied red make up liberally over his face and bald head. He had attached two three foot horns either side of his head. Somewhere out there was lowland cattle robbed of these magnificent ornaments. The effect was without doubt sinister in the extreme. Nobbys wide rouge head mounted with the huge splayed horns receiving rousing cheers as he made his uncertain progress down the High Street. As Mephistopheles drew level he stopped and turned to look directly at Pawser, his eyes glinting malevolently before being urged on by oblivious Nobby.

The rest of the hunt clattered past in costumes of demons and angels but none were a patch on Nobbys creepily crafted outfit. Penny trotted past in her white sheet and little tinsel covered wings and halo he'd so expertly made earlier. Pawser waved but she did not see him. Her eyes were fixed admiringly on the paunchy figure of Nobby astride his frisky steed.

Pawser watched slightly despondently as the rest of the procession streamed by. A boar suspended on a spit over a large barrel pulled on stoat rope by a group of drunken devils, the kids from the local school on their bikes dressed as little cherubs or long tailed imps. A St John's ambulance slowly followed up the rear.

Pawser slipped off the post-box and joined the crowd walking leisurely up the road behind the ambulance to the village green by the church. The Yule was in full swing. The roasting boar had been set up by the bonfire and a number of little tents stood up around the green shone with thousands of flickering fairy lights.

Pawser mooched around, ducking in and out of shabby tents offering cakes and ale, jams. A tent from the Save the Roman Snail Society was shared by Village Church Bell Tower Society. A couple of stall holders were selling Christmas trinkets, close by a man standing by a glowing brazier cried, 'chestnuts, chestnuts,' his voice muffled by a large scarf wrapped around his head.

The hunt had gathered in a circle a respectable distance from the roaring bonfire. As Pawser approached he could see Penny still astride Tilly, her hands cupping a mug of hot mead, happily chatting to Nobby.

'How did it go?' he asked pushing through the horses.

Penny looked a little irritated to be interrupted. Nobby looked away.

'We're having such fun Pawser. Have you seen Nobby's costume? Isn't it fantastic?' enthused Penny.

'Fantastic,' repeated Pawser flatly.

'Pawser, be a dear and take this home with you will you,' Penny passed him a red berry holly wreath,' I can't cope with it here. It will look great on the front door. You can put it up tomorrow.'

'You could do it tonight,' said Nobby with an impatient sneer, 'there's still time if you get off now.'

'Bloody hell it's prickly,' said Pawser sucking his thumb, ignoring Nobby's impertinence.

'I know. That's why I asked you to take it. You will take care of it won't you?'

'You do that and I'll take care of Penny for you,' added Nobby turning his red horned face to look disdainfully at Pawser.

'Prick,' said Pawser.

'What?' said Nobby.

'Pricks, this thing's full of them,' said Pawser waving the wreath at Nobby. 'I'll see you later then, Penny.' He turned and pushed his way back through the jostling horses.

Pawser stayed just long enough to see the wicker man lit. He'd hung around in the vain hope that the drunken crowd might just turn on the red devil and stick him in there. He'd have happily leant them a box of matches and a couple of firelighters. He didn't see much point in staying to watch the evil, fat buttocked lothario leaching over Penny so he grabbed some boar, sausage and chips, cut across the green and headed for home.

Pawser plodded up the road by the school stopping by the gates under a street light to unwrap his chips. A little sprite with a long black tail was slowly cycling in circles on the playground; he stopped for a moment, pulled up his mask and called across to Pawser. 'Can I have a chip?'

Pawser looked at his chips, 'No, that bugger at the fair's given me a short portion. '

'That's my dad. He runs the chip shop.'

'Well tell him from me he's a tight bastard.'

'Dad says if you eat his chips you'll die of a heart attack!' the demon called back. He pulled down his mask and returned to cycling slowly in figures of eight.

'Mr Bingham! Is that any way to talk to a small child,' a voice from the darkness admonished a startled Pawser.

Pawser jumped and turned to find Mrs Lovegod glaring sternly at him, the dark line of her disapproving lip picked out by the yellow sodium glare of the streetlight. Earl's wife, or Nancy as Pawser sometimes dared to address her was a short, direct lady with black frizzy hair and the barest whiff of a fascist moustache. She was often to be seen marching briskly through the village attired in her checked coat pulling a large shopping trolley bearing the same tartan design. Mrs Lovegod was the sort of woman the country would need if war ever broke out, for within no time she'd have the local men marching up and down the high street bearing wooden rifles and at home she'd have the local WI in her kitchen running a production line turning out vegetable chutneys and assorted incendiary devices.

'I'm sorry, Nancy I didn't see you there. I thought everyone was at the festival.'

Mrs Lovegod drew in her breath and pressed her lips together at Pawser's liberty for using her first name. 'I was there but I've had to nip down to the allotment to pick up some winter cabbages for Earl.' She motioned to her trolley which was filled to the brim with cabbages.

'That seems rather a lot for Christmas lunch, Mrs Lovegod. Are you expecting guests?'

'No, not at all. It's a new business venture Earl is working on?'

'Really? He hasn't mentioned it, I thought he retired. Mind you he wasn't down the pub earlier.'

She looked around cautiously and having checked the sprite was out of earshot leaned forward and whispered to Pawser, 'Well, between me and you Mr Bingham, he's back in the game so he's out tonight?'

'What, back in the snail business?'

'Keep your voice down Mr Bingham; he doesn't want anyone to know. You know how it is, the snail business, very competitive. When he retired a lot of his business adversaries were pretty pleased I can tell you, they got to move into his old stamping grounds.'

'I thought he was glad to get out of it, those late nights, the cold and he's not as nifty on his feet as he used to be.'

'You're right Mr Bingham. You have to pretty quick on your toes in the snail catching business,' Mrs Lovegod assured Pawser. 'No, he's got a new plan so he doesn't have to be. Have you ever heard about captive breeding programmes, Mr Bingham?'

'I've seen Born Free.'

'Well, he collects the best specimens he can find. Roman snails of course, only the largest ones. He knows where to look. We keep them at home where it's warm. Once we build up enough stock he needn't go out hunting at night, we can just breed and farm them at home.'

'Don't you mind all the sticky trails over the carpets?'

'Mr Bingham,' Mrs Lovegod reprimanded. 'We keep them in the sheds out back. We've got quite a stock already. That's what the cabbages are for. They love these, they're January Kings. Earl and I planted them in the spring.'

Mrs Lovegod paused, tilted her head and looked off down the road. Pawser could make out the faint noise of a horse approaching, a distant clip-clopping. Pawser turned to look. Under a far off street light he could make out the enormous shape of Mephistopheles bearing the grotesque red faced horned figure of Nobby.

'It's that vulgar butcher man and that awful horse of his,' Mrs Lovegod said distastefully, 'I do hope he doesn't stop and talk to us .He keeps badgering me to go into that shop of his. My butchers in Guildford, I keep telling him but he won't have any of it. Let's just ignore him shall we?'

A sound plan thought Pawser turning to face Mrs Lovegod so his back was to the road.

Mephistopheles trotted heavily down the road, Nobby bouncing up and down on his back. Just when Pawser though they were going to pass by Nobby hauled him to a halt. For a moment Pawser listened to the snorting, jittery, pawing equine and then slowly turned to face him. Mephistopheles fixed him in his gaze and eyed him up with hateful intent.

'Oh hello, matey,' sniffed Nobby, 'You haven't seen where the rest of them have gone have you?'

Pawser looked up at the be-horned Nobby, 'The church I'd think but I don't think they'll let you in dressed like that.'

'It's only a bit of fun, matey. You should try it and relax a bit,' observed Nobby conceitedly.

I'd relax a bit if you'd stop screwing my wife Pawser thought resentfully.

'Oh hello, Nancy. I haven't seen you in my shop lately. Why don't you pop by? I'll do you a deal on my leak and venison pie.'

'That's because I've never been in your shop, and don't call me Nancy.' Mrs Lovegod glared.

'YEEEEERRRRGGHHHH,' the little demon shot by on his cycle in the road past Mephistopheles and cycled off.

The startled Mephistopheles bucked and reared uncontrollably under Nobby as he wrestled wildly with the reigns. 'You idiot!'

'Knobhead!' the demon yelled back.

Mephistopheles staggered sideways toward Pawser. He stepped back and pulled Mrs Lovegod back. Mephistopheles continued his sideways reel toward them trapping them both against the railings. Pawser found himself pinned by a muscular foreleg with Mrs Lovegod, trapped by a colossal black belly next to him. Nobby struggled frantically in his saddle to regain control.

'Nobby, get that bloody animal off us!' shouted Pawser.

'All under control, matey,' cried Nobby wrestling in vain with the reigns, the red paint streaking in the sweat running down his face.

Mrs Lovegod had managed to pull her shopping trolley up in front of her and was using it as a barrier to fend off Mephistopheles hind quarters, 'You're crushing my cabbages, Mr Slowhand.'

'I shouldn't think it matters, not at your age, love,' yelled Nobby.

Despite the pressure of black sweaty smelling flesh pushing up against him Pawser was distracted by an odd sensation around his legs. Looking down he could see Mephistopheles enormous protuberance testing his knees like an elephant's trunk searching for a bun. Having determined he held nothing of interest it briskly moved on and proceeded to frisk Mrs Lovegod. Mrs Lovegod looked down for a moment at this unwelcome intrusion of her personal space with an air of steely disgust.

'Will you get this revolting animal off us,' she said severely between gritted teeth.

'Well, if you think you can do better you're welcome to try,' spat back Nobby.

'Give me that,' Mrs Lovegod snatched the holly wreath from Pawser's hand and adeptly slipped it over Mephistopheles member and then pushed it home hard.

Mephistopheles head swung around and give Pawser a startled look, his pupils dilated to the size of two large black marbles.

'It was her,' mouthed Pawser pointing at Mrs Lovegod.

Half ton of horse meat staggered back into the road, bucked and flailed, bucked and reared up displaying Penny's prickly holly wreath hung round his nether regions. Nobby grabbed wildly at his mane, struggling to stay in the saddle whilst Mephistopheles erratically jumped and skipped off down the road in a vain attempt to work the wreath free. As they disappeared into the gloom, Pawser listened with satisfaction to the occasional shout of 'Whoa there! ' in Nobby's voice coming back through the darkness.

'That man's so rude. Don't you think? I really must talk to the vicar about him,' said Mrs Lovegod pulling her coat straight and picking out tufts of black horse hair from the material, 'It's just too much. Well I must be off, Mr Bingham. Earl will be back soon and the snails will be expecting their supper. Merry Christmas to you and your wife.' She turned and marched off trailing her rattling cabbage trolley behind her.