Noel Edmonds rose, then he fell, then rose again, then he fell again, then he tired of his trampoline. He stood in his garden, slowly fiddling with his beard, giving the appearance of a tightly permed poodle’s arse being groped by a Cruft’s judge. He eventually paused and lit a cigarette.

 “Mr Blobby, come un to me…” He raised his right arm in the universal gesture of summoning and soon, as if pulled by a devilish invisible lead, some jobbing would-be actor in a pink rubber suit staggered over.

 “My name is not Mr. Blobby, it’s Clive… I’m an actor… I am not real… will you quit referring to me like that.” said a muffled voice from within the suit.

 “You look like Mr Blobby to me, and thus you are Mr Blobby.” Edmonds said calmly.

 “I’m only dressed like this because you snapped the fucking zip off ten years ago. It’s minging in here, after all this time it’s half-full of flakes of skin and dandruff… let me out you son of a bitch.” Came the voice.

 “Poor Mr Blobby, your delusions still trouble you… do not fear, one day you shall be sane and will be free to leave the grounds and once more mingle with society.” Edmonds patted the giant pink dome.

 “I would so kill you right now if I could…” muttered Mr Blobby.

 “See, it is things like that that made me break your arms for your own safety.” Edmonds’ voice took on a slightly sterner tone. “We discussed this at length.”

 “Did we bollocks… You sneaked in while I was asleep and hit me with a fucking sledgehammer… I’d only come round because you’d offered me fifty quid and a crack at Gloria Hunniford.” Mr Blobby sat on the floor and tried to insert a cigarette through his mouth hole. Edmonds knocked the cigarette away.

 “YOU WILL NOT SMOKE… YOU WILL NOT DO WHAT I DAMN WELL KNOW YOU DO WHEN YOU’RE IN THE BATHROOM… YOU WILL NOT HUMP GLORIA’S LEG LIKE A COCKER SPANIEL EVERYTIME SHE COMES ROUND… YOU ARE NOT HUMAN… YOU ARE MY CREATION…” Edmonds struck Mr Blobby hard around the head and, for the umpteenth time, Mr Blobby and his contents lapsed into unconsciousness.

 Clive awoke, the inside of his suit moist with perspiration and the Chanel No.5 that Edmonds regularly poured into the suit’s eye holes every time he considered the odour to have grown overly offensive. By the way his retinas were burning he suspected Noel had topped him up while he’d been out. Retreating into the depths of the suit he found a pepperami had been fed through one or another of the holes and now lodged in an armpit. 10 years of food that fitted through rubber orifices was really beginning to grate slightly, especially when he had a cold and Noel insisted on pouring chicken soup into the suit’s cranium. He could not be picky though, for mice or something had nested somewhere within the depths during the long six months he’d been locked in the cellar after criticizing Noels’ beard. He had to fight the little bastards for anything edible and, on a few occasions, for bits that were attached to him.

 “I’ve had just about enough of this.” He said quietly to himself as he tried to roll over and discovered he was suspended from a coat-hook in the cupboard under the stairs again. Mr Noel obviously had visitors and wanted the place tidy.

 “Squeak.”

 “Yes Simon, I agree.”  Thus Clive made plans as Simon burrowed.

 After a while he heard muffled voices through the cupboard door, he distinctly heard a female voice saying something about having had a lovely time and was looking forward to seeing him again. This narrowed it down to two people and Anthea Turner was off on holiday. It was Gloria… Clive felt his loins rustle beneath the dandruff layer. Somewhere down below Simon let out a muffled squeak and there was a hurried scrambling for the relative safety of the buttock region. Dear god, Clive thought, she was mere feet away, he can practically reach out and stroke her shiny silver hair if it wasn’t for the door in the way, the fact he was immobilized, and that his arms were broken. Clive tried bouncing up and down in an attempt to dislodge himself from the coat-hook. It did not seem promising…yet, this might be his last chance… HE WOULD BREAK FREE… He continued to bounce, in fact he bounced as he had never bounced before… and suddenly, with a loud creak, something tore. It was Clive’s groin muscle… yet, as he was busy flopping about in extreme pain, there was another creak and suddenly, with an almighty “flump” the crotch of the suit split open and disgorged a great torrent of dandruff and, to Clive’s joy, Simon… Jesus, Simon was a lot bigger than Clive had always thought he was… he also appeared to be a Shetland pony. Thank Christ, thought Clive, he’d always thought that giant lump in his suit was a hernia.

 “Simon,” he whispered, “quite why did you keep going squeak all these years? You’re a pony.”

 “Meh, I was fucking with ya.” replied Simon.

 Outside the cupboard there was the slam of a door followed by some form of commotion. Edmonds was screaming something along the lines of “Woooo… I’m SO IN there…” and jumping up and down.

 “We have little time Simon, set me free…” Clive whispered.

 “What the hell do you want me to do? I’m a fucking horse as you were so keen to point out.” He waved a hoof in front of Clive’s face. “See that, that right there, what’s that?”

 “It’s a hoof.” Clive replied excitedly.

 “Right, it ain’t a fucking Swiss Army knife.”

 “Well, do something with it damn you.”

 “Now let’s work out what we can do with this?” replied Simon.

 “Er…”

 “We can do this,” Simon kicked Clive in the groin, “and that’s about it… Oh wait, I could probably chew through the crotch of your suit if you want?”

 “I’d rather you didn’t.”

 “I’d rather I didn’t either.”

 “So what are we going to do?” asked Clive, feeling a pleasant breeze on his genitalia for the first time in ten years.

 “Well, I could kick down the door, overpower Edmonds, beat him a few times, drag him back here, force him to free you, and then we could kill him, and you can shag Gloria.” replied Simon

 “BRILLIANT!” Clive enthusiastically whispered. “Let’s do that then.”

 “Nah.” replied Simon and went to sleep.

 The door opened slowly, harsh daylight blinding Clive.

 “OH MY GOD…” He heard Edmonds scream. Oh crap, he thought, he was in for a kicking now... “MY BLOBBY, YOU HAVE GIVEN BIRTH TO OUR SON! AT LONG LAST I AM A FATHER!” What the fuck?, thought Clive. Noel continued joyously, “MY SEED, IT HAS LODGED IN YOUR WOMB!” Clive’s eyebrows pretty much hit the rubbery roof. Noel rushed forward to hug the sleeping Simon.

 “Do you mind mate, I’m trying to get some kip.” Simon muttered, opening one eye and squinting angrily at the bearded twat.

 “Son, I love you.” Noel picked up Simon and bounced him on one knee.

 “Listen mate, you really don’t want to do this...” Simon was starting to feel unwell, “I may seem cute and loveable, but it won’t prevent me from putting a boot so far up your arse you’ll have to open your mouth to tie the laces.”

 “My boy’s first words!” Edmonds was practically dancing.

 “Right, I’ve had quite enough of this… Excuse me a brief moment Mr Blobby…” Simon swung the door shut.

 “I’m not Mr Blob…” The door swung shut. “I’m an actor…” trailed off Clive.

 From outside of the door there were a series of whinnies and an unpleasant crunching sound.

 Two days later Clive heard the front door open and slam shut.

 “Gloria!” cried a gleeful voice. There followed some muffled chitchat and the sound of feet on the stairs. The door to the cupboard opened.

 “I’m SO IN there Mr Blobby… take this.” Clive’s world suddenly became even darker as a duffle coat was placed over his head.

 “I’m not Mr Blob…” The door swung shut. “I’m an actor.” finished Clive quietly to himself as the sound of hooves climbing the stairs drowned out the rustling of whatever had chosen to nest in his buttock space.