The Pied Piper of Hamelin. Russell Brand

rosette, the blooming circle of blood around his right nipple, all to her seemed like the marks of a good sort.

       Now, Gretchen is what you’d call gorgeous. Tall, tall like a tower in Castilla with a donkey being shoved off it (they do that, you know), dark blue eyes like the deepest oceans where people dump their rubbish (this also happens) and her hair a tangled meadow of gold that had no obvious connotations of cruelty or irresponsibility. I have to admit, she had great hair.

      Dennis hung around Fat Bob too. Dennis was so unremarkable that he pretended to be whatever was required of him in any given moment just to fit in. Look at the drawings of him – he’s always different. See.

      Today was a special day for the townspeople, the most important day of their year. It was finally, after 364 of the most boring days imaginable, time for The Most Gorgeous Child in Hamelin pageant. In Hamelin they don’t have Jesus or Buddha or Mohammed so there was no Christmas, or any of that. They pretended to worship a goat called Ezra who jumped off the sun and created all the galaxies by sicking up chocolate milk and spinning it into planets. It’s a daft belief system, but the Hamelinians didn’t mind because they only paid attention to the bits that suited them. On Ezramus Day the townspeople sat around and told stories about why they were the kindest person in Hamelin. It’s pretty lame. For them, The Most Gorgeous Child in Hamelin pageant is the big one, a chance to really let rip and enjoy life.

       Today everyone was really feeling the vibe – there were banners, fireworks (which in the daytime are just invisible explosions), stalls selling amazing candy and lamb legs dipped in sherbet (a Hamelinian delicacy), local news crews bustling and smiling (Good Morning, Hamelin! Get Your Perfect Bottom Out Of Bed!), everyone’s hair was immaculately combed and their clothes were ironed so straight that they were scared to move.

      The parents that had children in the pageant, like Fat Bob’s Dad, Gretchen’s Mum and a bunch of others, stood around licking lollipops, sipping hot wine (a treasured tradition) and bragging about their vile brats.