Pantomime, Pantomime: Showbiz sublime. Now’s the prime Of wintertime. And so it’s time For Bow Bells to chime: “Turn again Livingstone, Mayor Ken of London”, And for us to rhyme Our paradigm Of Pantomime With sparkling wine.

We want to delight you.
We’re here to excite you.
We swear we won’t bite you.

Widow Twankey (disguised as Ian McKellen): What am I doing dressed as a dame? How did I get into Aladdin at the Old Vic, dears?

I’m a knight not a dame.
I’m an actor not an actress.

Half Crowd: Oh NO you’re not. Other Half Crowd: Oh YES you are.

Posh in thigh-length slit boots: Oi don’t believe it. My ’usband ain’t done nuffink wrong. We love each uva. She’s a loose cow.

Dandini (Julian Clary): Are those hot pants you’re wearing, dear? Mmmm. Lovely. And your pants put the Pant in Pantomime.

Posh: Ow d’yer mean?

Albus Dumbledore (Alan Titchmarsh): Seazy-peazy, weak’n’weazy. Pants come from a Saint. Saint Pantaleone was a Christian doctor who treated the poor in Rome free. So of course the Romans condemned him to death.

Audience: Boooo.

Dumblebore: Six times he miraculously survived the short sharp shock from a cheap and chippy chopper on a big black block. But at the seventh shot they removed his head.

The Babes in the Wood (Ant and Dec): So what happened then, professor?

Gaspar, the short-tempered Wise Man (Duke of Edinburgh): Bugger me. Do you mind. Any fool knows that, even a filthy monkey of a press snapper. His name means “All Lion”. Can’t you imbeciles even see that? Pantaleon became the patron saint of doctors, and a martyr revered by Venetians. His name was all the more popular because so many boys were baptised in his honour. Damned silly name, if you ask me.

Jack and the brown-nosed breakfast-stalk (Frostie): But where do the knickers come into your narrative, Sir?

Melchior (Sven-Göran Eriksson): Ziss vass a joke, hein? It seemed comical to call a foolish character with no left foot ‘all lion’. So they called the buffoon in ze commedia dell’ arte Pantaloon. He was an emaciated bespectacled old man with no left foot, like most of my team. He wore slippers (with Nike logo, I suppose), and one-piece skintight breeches that bloused out above the knees and came to be known as pantaloons.

Jingle (Michael Parkinson): Pantaloons came to be the name for trousers in general. Introduced to America. Shortened to pants. Pants replaced trousers in American speech. Not in British. Here pants mean men’s underwear.

Prince Charming (Julie Burchill): But what have pants to do with pantomime?

Ali Baba (Saddam Hussein): Not a lot.

Chorus of Red Tops: Liar, Liar — Your pants are on fire.

Balthazar (Elton John): I’m happy to say that I’m amazed that I’m still around. But Pantomime’s not what it was. The golden age of pantomime has gone. Not like my prime at Drury Lane and Covent Garden, and the Britannia at Hoxton. Topical songs, recycled stale songs, slapstick for the chavs and plebs, romance, wigs (no: hairpieces), male and female impersonation, live music, acrobatics, splendid settings and costumes, precision and ballet dancing, trick scenery and transformation. That’s why “a proper pantomime” is used outside the theatre in colloquial English to signify a state of confusion. Just like our public life.

Cinders (Madonna): Oh, don’t be such spoilsports. Pantomime is one of your quaint old English peculiars. Nobody else on earth understands or copies it. But there’s something for everybody. It’s vulgar and pop. It’s the only production in the theatre that most Britons go to all year. So don’t knock it.

Chorus: Look out! He’s behind you. Here comes Jack Frost with Jack Straw and New Year. May it be better than the last one. That’s the eternal triumph of hope over experience, and of this year’s old queens of comedy over last year’s. And Pants for Pantomime. Knickers to you all. A bright New Year.