New Pantaloons

'What do you think of my new pantaloons?' says Mrs Pumphrey to Mrs Slocombe as they stand side by side in front of the boudouir mirror in the fifth best bedroom in the South Wing of Cluckinghen Palace.
'I think they look very tasty,' says Mrs Slocombe, who, despite the regular provision of a good, solid white cabbage several times a week to focus her pecking habits upon, still hankers after a good beakful of soft and downy feathers every now and again.
'You are NOT to revert to feather plucking,' says Mrs Miggins, looking severely over the top of her new Dame Edna reading specs. 'It has taken Mrs Pumphrey a lot of time and effort to grow her new pantaloons, and although they may look like the finest candyfloss, they are to remain on Mrs Pumphrey's bottom, because it's bloomin' brassic outside at the moment. She needs all the lagging she can get in this cold weather.'

Mrs Slocombe sticks out her bottom lip. 'I have no intention of eating Mrs Pumphrey's new pantaloons,' she says. 'In fact, I don't think I'd have room for them, not after all the cabbage I've been eating. It bloats one something chronic, you know.'

'Why do we wear pantaloons?' asks Mrs Pumphrey.
'Many reasons,' says Mrs Miggins, putting down her copy of 'Mediaeval Tapestries Quarterly', because she likes to be asked her opinion on all manner of subjects, and thus feels it important to give questioners her full attention. (Unless it's a really stupid question like, 'Do pirates wear flip-flops?' for example.)

'Such as?' says Mrs Slocombe.
'Well,' says Mrs Miggins, 'they stop the wind going up your arris, for a start.'
'Are you sure it's your arris?' says Mrs Slocombe.
'Quite,' says Mrs Miggins. 'Just look what happened to Polonius in Hamlet.'
'What happened to Polonius in Hamlet?' demands Mrs Pumphrey.
'He got stabbed in his arris,' says Mrs Miggins. 'And he died. And so did the rat. And I bet you anything that he wasn't wearing his pantaloons.'
'So you're saying that Polonius in Hamlet would have been saved from being stabbed if he had been wearing his pantaloons?' says Mrs Slocombe.
'Most definitely,' says Mrs Miggins.

Mrs Pumphrey looks confused, a not unusual occurence.
'Let me get this straight,' she says. 'Polonius in Hamlet got stabbed to death because the rat in his arris wasn't wearing pantaloons?'

Mrs Miggins looks at Mrs Slocombe and lets out a sigh. 'Some literary metaphors go way above some chicken's heads, don't they?' she says.

Sensing a potential fracas brewing, Mrs Slocombe steps in as peacemaker ( a VERY unusual occurence.)
'So what other reasons are there for wearing pantaloons?' she asks.
'Remember that time when Mrs Pumphrey and Tango Pete did the Lindy-hop at the National Free Dance Championships?' says Mrs Miggins. 'And Tango Pete flipped Mrs Pumphrey over his head?'
'I remember,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'I wasn't wearing any pantaloons.'
'And thus traumatised the first six rows of the audience,' says Mrs Miggins.
'Weren't they offered counselling?' says Mrs Slocombe.
'Totally irrelevant,' snaps Mrs Miggins. 'Nice hens do not Lindy-hop without pantaloons.'

Mrs Pumphrey looks momentarily contrite at her previously louche behaviour in the pantaloon department. But not for long. The sense of freedom she felt during that Lindy-hop was...

'Stop it!' reprimands Mrs Miggins. 'You might have been able to get away with it then, but not now. Now you are a hen of a certain age.'

'Any other reasons?' asks Mrs Slocombe, because it is always stylistically pleasing when writing an account of anything to make three points in a row.

'Do you remember the Great Wind of '87?' says Mrs Miggins.
'No,' say Mrs Pumphrey and Mrs Slocombe in unison.
'I do,' says Mrs Miggins, although this isn't strictly true. 'And during the Great Wind of '87, many, many pantaloons were lost.'
'Really?' says Mrs Slocombe.
'Yes,' says Mrs Miggins. 'The Great Wind of '87 was followed by the Great Pantaloon Famine of 88-91. It took three years of hard work on behalf of M & S to replenish the British Pantaloon stock to its former glory.'
'That's very interesting,' says Mrs Pumphrey.

'And the lesson is...?' says Mrs Miggins, who has been standing too close to Denise these last four weeks and caught a heavy dose of assessment for learning through close individual questioning.
'Hang on to your pantaloons when there's a stiff breeze?' says Mrs Slocombe.
'Don't take your pantaloons for granted,' corrects Mrs Miggins.

And let that be a lesson to us all.