Goldilocks and the Three Bears

The three bears were walking through the woods after a hard day’s berry picking. It had been a trying day not least because they had run into several diminutive miners one of whom had stumbled into a creek on the way home. Doddie McBear had taken it upon himself to walk into the stream and rescue the bearded short one, known as a ‘dwarf’ before the enlightenment, by the scruff of his neck and place him gently back on the path. They left them squabbling amongst themselves and continued their weary way silently along the trail. Eventually Doddie broke the silence.

“How many of those miners were there?”

Gareth John, the Welsh bear, scratched his whiskers and said,

“Not sure but I think it was an even number”

Seumas O’Bear nodded wisely.

“Aye, there was seven, an even number”.

They walked a bit further. Eventually McBear said,

“Seven’s no an even number.”

O’Bear was angry.

“I identify it as an even number. It’s my truth.”

The other two were about to argue but wisely thought against it because they knew that Gandalf, the language wizard, sees and hears all and, with a sharp thrust of his staff, could deplatform them. McBear was contemplating this as they walked on and was mumbling that being deplatformed would not matter to him as he had never been platformed in the first place.

“ Anyhow, terrible verbalisation of a perfectly good noun,” He muttered sotto voce.

They were all now pretty hungry and looking forward to the porridge that McBear had cooked lovingly the night before. McBear thought ruefully about how he had culturally compromised himself by allowing his two foreign relatives to partake of that most Scottish of dishes. He thought that the least he could do would be to bring out his bagpipes and play a lament over the repast to soothe the spirits of his forefathers. But as they approached the cottage, the front door, which they knew had been locked in the morning, was ajar. They looked at each other.

Gareth voiced what they all knew.

“Not that Goldilocks again”, with a ‘Look you’ at the end in case we had all forgotten that he was Welsh.

“That bloody ginger-heided nuisance,” McBear was running his hands through his hair in frustration but then he remembered he had claws and fur and stopped before he did himself an injury.

“Ye can’t call her “Ginger” she’s ‘Goldilocks”, her locks are golden.” with a “Sure and Begorrah” just in case we had forgotten that Seumas was Irish.

McBear was frustrated.

“I’ll call her what I want, Gandalf be damned.” And he pointed a claw at his companions and said angrily,

“And if ye think we’re going through all that ‘whose been eating my porridge, sitting in my chair, sleeping in my bed’ nonsense again ye can forget getting yer spoons intae ma porridge” with ‘ye ken’ at the end just in case we didn’t know he was Scottish.

They walked through the door and there was a young woman sat at the kitchen table eating their porridge. She looked up and smiled.

“Hi I’m Snow White, Cinderella’s upstairs having a nap, you must be the three bears?”

Her eyebrows were raised quizzically. She knew better than to call them bears just because they had ursine qualities. For all she knew they might identify as salmon. Snow White was very woke as befits somebody who had been asleep for many years until some perverted necro of a prince had happened on her one day and slopped a totally unwanted kiss on her lips. “Yuk!” She had thought then and she still yukked at the memory.

“You two are in the wrong fairy tale,” Seumas pointed out.

“It’s a few hours before Cinderella turns into a pumpkin if I remember the story correctly,” Gareth said.

“Those stories aren’t allowed any more, any rate the coach turned into a pumpkin and not her. As I recall the Prince found a Doc Martin which had fallen from her foot as she left. He then spent a bucket load of tax payers’ money and hours of wasted labour trying to find out who she was in real life. All he had to do was scan through the security cameras and she was there for all to see. Now, of course, he’s wasting more of our dosh trying to find the horses which reverted to mice. Why? What next? A Netflix interview and a book deal? Strewth!”

At that moment they heard the clump, clump, clump of somebody coming down the stairs. First one boot appeared and then another then a waif of a girl in rags. She stopped when she saw who was there then stretched, yawned and took a seat at the table, serving herself some porridge.  She smiled and looked up at the bears.

“I am a millenial so I’m entitled.” And Cinderella slurped back a spoonful with smiling entitlement.

Suddenly there was an eerie scream from outside and they all rushed out in alarm, except for Cinderella who felt the need to finish her porridge before helping out in the crisis. Crises are never as important as entitlements.

In the thick old growth forest, it took them some time to figure out from whence the screams were coming, so there was a great deal of running back and forth, tripping and stumbling over each other, apologising and promising more care. It was rather like a Canadian government groping its way towards a solution except this was only one person in trouble in the woods, not a Trans-Canada pipeline, nor a provincial transfer payment, nor a crisis in the health care system; not getting fresh running water to northern reserves. No, a single shriek in the woods was a much, much more important issue, a chance for a picture in the newspapers, hopefully a televised opportunity to signal virtues. The more fuss that was made over a wee shriek, the better. Eventually the screaming ended and Goldilocks appeared in the clearing before the front of the cottage.  All looked disappointed because of what might have been. Cut off in mid dramatic rescue before the media could arrive was not what any of them wanted.

“Bloody Ginger-heided niaf again,!” McBear shouted. At that moment a lightning bolt struck the ground in front of him and Gandalf appeared from the woods.

Some weeks later Goldilocks, Cinderella and Snow White were walking home after a hard day’s work supervising the seven vertically challenged people at the coal face. They were looking forward to their evening granola bar and a seat in front of the fire with their beetroot smoothies. As they approached the cottage they noticed that the front door that they had locked that morning was ajar. Tentatively they entered and saw that somebody had been eating their granola bars and supping on their smoothies.

“Whose been eating my por–, er, granola bar?” Cinderella corrected herself.

Goldilocks eyed the heavens.

“Not that retro crap. I thought when we took over from the bears we were rewriting these fairy tales. No more “Whose beens” please? Bears come from a privileged class who have bullied and lorded it over us for years. We are in the forefront of affirmative action and let’s not forget we have been given a government grant to talk balderdash and spatchcock nonsensical ideas before an appointed committee and, most importantly, to do nothing that is constructive and worthwhile. Such recklessness would risk defunding, would it not?” She spouted her self-righteous indignation as a vortex of aura appeared suddenly from the east.

At that moment, McBear appeared from upstairs. His eyes were red and worn with lack of sleep, he was unshaven, was in a sweat stained vest, smelled of stale alcohol and had a roll up in his mouth. He looked depressed and hopeless. At least he would have done if bears’ eyes showed lack of sleep but bears have fur and don’t need to shave and when have we ever seen a bear wearing a vest and smoking a roll up?! They don’t. He looked like a bear with a sore head, which in itself was amazing because bears don’t drink alcohol either. The other two bears appeared stumbling along behind him. The joy and confidence had gone from all three of them. They who had once bullied and ruled the hoi polloi were now the victims. They had reached the top of the ladder only to discover that it was propped against the wrong wall. They had to begin again at the bottom. But all was not lost.

The three bears were not unwise to the ways of the world. They played upon their victimhood. Secretly they met and plotted and deliberately impoverished themselves further so they were now quite obviously down at heel and relying on handouts and help and charity from others. They wore their penury like a badge of honour. After months of sleeping rough, McBear cast off his cardboard, moved from under the bridge and announced to his slumbering companions that now was the time. Accordingly they wrapped their victimhood about them like warm cloaks. They headed into the town. They found themselves outside the government offices and thus began their quest to convince the Highheidyins that the wrongs of the past needed to be righted, that their persecution was ripe for reparation, that a government apology was required and that the sky at night should again boast Ursa Major and Minor rather than the renamed ‘the very big group of bright stars vaguely shaped in the form of large fur bearing animals” and its smaller equivalent. The pendulum was swinging again very slightly backwards and pretty soon they felt they would again be known as The Three Bears.

“For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction”. Isaac Newton’s Third Law

Thanks for reading.