"Excuse me... so sorry... excuse me... whoops, sorry... watch out for that bin, Tom, you'll have it over! Come on, down here..."
Iris Wildthyme and her young companion Tom picked their way carefully down the crowded steps of the huge amphitheatre and found a gap in the crowd to stand in. Iris smiled apologetically at the gruff-looking orange-skinned man she nearly elbowed as she turned to gaze around her in awe. There were thousands of people from seemingly every alien and bio-mechanical race imaginable, all gazing in wonder at the round stage beneath them bathed in golden light. It was a beautiful, almost stirring sight, and she was determined to enjoy it. She'd even worn something less provocative than usual, a floor-length shimmering gown of gold and silver done up to the neck, with elbow length white silk gloves and delicate silver slippers on her feet. She looked a treat.
He, however, didn't; though at least Iris had been able to force him to wear a tie for a change. Not that you could see it underneath the duffle coat he had tightly buttoned around him.
Tom was also looking around, but it was not with awe. He wrinkled his nose. "Crowded, innit?" he sniffed. He'd hated crowded places ever since his father had forced him to endure the yelling hordes at Stamford Bridge. Football was no fun when you were only five years old and four foot nothing and could see nothing but the backside of the screaming football fan in front of you. And this place didn't seem to be a lot different, though at least he wasn't staring up someone's backside - yet. He preferred to watch his footy at home, where at least you didn't have to look at a backside (not counting any of the ones running around on the screen), unless of course it was a particularly boring match.
Iris, of course, took a different view. "Of course it's crowded!" she snapped, and was rewarded with an admonishing 'shush' from someone immediately below them. She smiled apologetically again and lowered her voice. "This is a very special occasion! The Swearing-In Ceremony of the New Bergers of Vaarg is one of the events of the Time Travellers' season."
Tom giggled. "Swearing in, or swearing at?"
She gave him a frosty look. "The Bergers of Vaarg are respected and revered Holy Officers of the Divine Union of Srannos, not football referees." She suddenly slapped at his hand. "And for goodness sake, take your finger out of your nose!"
"It's itchy. All that flaming incense."
"It's not flaming incense, it's Essence of Purification, boiled away slowly in the braziers of the Under-Clerics to heighten the atmosphere of reverence." Iris took a deep breath and held it in her lungs. Tom remained unimpressed.
"More like it's being burnt to disguise the BO of the crowd - ouch, that was my toe!"
More shushing from the crowd. Iris smiled apologetically again and dragged him down so they were crouching on the step. "It'll be more than your toe next time if you don't stop making a spectacle of yourself!" she hissed.
"Sorry, Iris." From the stormy look on her face he knew he'd better make an effort. "When does it all kick off, then?" he asked brightly.
She sighed. Kick off... "Very shortly! See that raised dais down there? That's where the old Bergers will take up their position."
"Can we not get a bit closer, Iris? I can see 'berger'-all from where we're standing! Oww! That was my knee!"
Iris then continued. "The new Bergers then come on stage right, preceded by the Sacred Bearers of the Holy Symbols of Vaarg. Those being, the representatives of the elements of Air, Fire, Water, Earth, and their Holy Beast, the Moorg Beetle, This will of course be driven in front of the Bearers with big sticks and the traditional cry "Gedalongyuhuglibuga". Then, when that's in position they - what on earth are you doing?"
Tom was pulling things out of his coat pockets. A plastic bowl and a large plastic bag of something that rustled loudly when it moved. Tom opened the bag and poured the contents into the bowl. The noise provoked another volley of 'shushes'. He held out the bowl to Iris. "Popcorn?"
"Popcorn!" she shouted. Louder shushes this time. "Popcorn!"
"Yeah. Well, you said it was a show of some sort. I always like some popcorn when I'm watching a show, so I knocked some up in the TARDIS. I thought there'd be 'berger'-all chance of getting any here!" He chuckled, and shook the bowl. "Want some?" he asked through a mouthful.
"Popcorn!" she practically shrieked. Now virtually everyone in the auditorium was going 'shush'. "I bring you to one of the most holy and reverential events in the Universe, and you have the temerity to eat popcorn? Do you even begin to comprehend how difficult it is to get the co-ordinates to this occasion, let alone how difficult it is to even pilot a TARDIS to this location? Do you know that there are races of beings, of infinite physical and mental superiority to ourselves, who positively lust after visiting this event? Ye Gods!"
She paused for breath and then resumed her critical assault, seemingly oblivious to the rising chorus of disapproval aimed against her. She began quietly, but it gradually raised to full volume:
"You know, the Doctor has mathematical geniuses, Oxbridge scholars, people of taste, and breeding, and wit, and sophistication travelling with him. Cultured companionship! And who do I end up with? Someone whose idea of culture and sophistication is Kevin Keegan belting a bloated bladder around a muddy field, the musical accomplishments of Noddy Holder, Fried Onion flavour Monster Munch with his Hofmeister lager, and pictures of lady tennis players scratching their arses!" Something caught in the corner of her eye and she whirled round. "What are you staring at?" she yelled.
Then she realised what they were staring at. What the entire audience was staring at.
And the Holy Bergers of Vaarg.
And their replacements.
And the Holy Bearers.
Even the Moorg Beetle.
They were ALL staring at her.
Iris blinked rapidly, mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. Then finally she managed in a small, weak voice: "I'm leaving."
Tom heard her pushing her way up through the crowds to the exit, apologising every time she trod on someone's foot or flipper or tentacle. Which was every other foot or flipper or tentacle. Then there was a dull clunk and a thud, followed by the sound of a waste bin clattering noisily down the steps, followed by a heartfelt: "Bugger!"
Then the doors at the top slammed, and she was gone.
Tom looked around the sea of disapproving face and shrugged. "Just one of those days, y'know?" He held out the bowl and shook it.
"Anyone want any popcorn?"
More from Iris in: Withnail and Iris
