Disclaimer: The Goodies belongs to the BBC (mostly) and Tim, Bill and Graeme belong to themselves. I own nothing but a fevered imagination, but the bits that ARE mine are yours under the Creative Commons attribution non commercial share alike licence.
Once upon a time, and underneath the couch, there was a beautiful girl called Cinderella. She had flowing blonde hair and eyes as blue and deep as the Pacific, and the fact that she needed a shave and her real name was Timothy is neither here nor there. Cinderella lived deep in the woods in the shadow of the Manchester bypass with two evil stepsisters, and you could tell they were evil because they were very, very ugly. They were so ugly the American economy kept a picture of them under its pillow, and looked at them whenever it wanted some reason to feel good about itself.
Cinderella was very hard working. One day she was washing the floor while her evil stepsister Graerella painted her toenails.
"Where's Billerella?" asked Tim, because if I have to keep typing out "Cinderella" every time I'm not going to get this bloody thing done by Christmas.
"She's gone into the village to get some little bits and pieces to make her more beautiful," replied Graeme, leaning back from his easel and sticking a paintbrush behind his ear.
"What on earth for?" asked Tim, getting the floor out of the washing machine.
"The prince is having a Christmas Eve ball, and we all have to look our best."
"Oi! I'm home! Go and put the kettle on, Tim." Bill burst in with a frock over the top of his camo gear, carrying a huge box that looked suspiciously like it contained a series of sight gags.
"Put the kettle on what?"
"Cor, you're not half being difficult today, are you?" Bill turned away from the confused Tim, and started showing his loot to Graeme.
"Now look at this lot, Graybags, this'll impress him no end. First we have… Fishnets!" Bill hauled the fishnets out of the box, about eighty feet of the stuff.
"Ah, Bill, you do realise there's a difference between fishnets and fishing nets?"
"What? Oh. Never mind, it'll come in handy for something. Next, nail polish!' He hauled out a large bottle of Silvo, "And to go with it…" the bottom of the brown paper bag Bill was holding gave way, showering him with a pointy hail of three-inch flat ended nails. "Not sure what we're supposed to do with those, but he's an unusual chap, I've heard. And, because it's a special occasion, I've dyed my hair red." Bill pulled the scarlet hare out of the box. It hopped off the table as though this sort of thing happened to it all the time, and tripped Tim who was coming back to report that he had put the kettle on. His evil stepgoodies looked him up and down.
"I'm surprised it fits, actually," Bill said at last.
The night of the ball had arrived. Graeme and Bill tottered out of their little house in the woods, resplendent in such finery as cannot be conveyed in the written word, and saddled up the trandem. They still hadn't caught whoever kept sneaking into the shed and removing the saddles, despite Graeme's sophisticated listening equipment. They climbed aboard, and Bill steadied himself against one of the giant ears jutting from the wall. They set off down the motorway towards the palace, stopping only to change places when Graeme figured out that the trip would be smoother if one of them sat in Tim's usual spot. It was somewhat difficult to steer with the front seat empty, as the lorry driver agreed. Tim wasn't available to sit there, as he was tied upside down in the chimney by his stepsisters, to stop him getting to the ball.
"Oh, why does this sort of rotten thing always happen to me?" moaned Tim as a load of soot fell up his nose. "I wish I wasn't in this horrid chimney."
Tim disappeared, and reappeared three nanoseconds later tied upside down in the septic tank.
"I wish I was back in the chimney! I wish I was back in the chimney!"
Three more nanoseconds later he was back in the chimney. The rope holding him conveniently let go and he landed with a soot-cushioned thud in the fireplace. Someone was watching him.
"Uh, Bill?"
"Nope, I'm your Fairy Billmother, and the wire holding this tinsel halo up is digging into my shoulder, so hurry up and make a decent bloody wish so I can go and get changed again."
"I wish for world peace."
"Come off it!"
"OK, I wish for a commercially available series-by-series set of DVDs covering every Goodies episode, remastered with commentaries and special features. And a new CD of previously unreleased Goodies songs, to go with it."
Bill and Tim looked at each other awkwardly.
"So, this world peace you're after…"
They met halfway and settled on Tim wishing to go to the Christmas Eve ball, which is just as well for this fairytale. Bill sent Tim off to find six mice, a pumpkin and a big black rat. Tim came back with three dead cockroaches, a root vegetable and a wind-up alarm clock, but it was near enough. The fairy Billmother waved his magic wand over them so hard the batteries fell out the end and the star stopped flashing, but then there was a puff of smoke and the collection of cockies, carrot and clock had been transformed as by magic or trick camerawork into Graeme astride a motorbike with a sidecar. His pirate captain's hat sat on a jaunty angle.
"Graeme! What are you doing here?"
"Look, you two have had a big long bit on your own. It's about time I got to do something." Tim clambered into the sidecar and Graeme revved the engine. They were about to leave when Bill yelled "Oi! Hold it - what about me?
"I give up, what about you?"
Bill huffed and waved his dead wand at the motorcycle. Another sidecar appeared on the other side, and he climbed in.
"To the palace, Greybags! The prince is holding a Christmas Eve ball!"
Graeme adjusted his eye patch, and they drove off through the fourth wall to the palace.
The trio crept quietly into the ballroom. The place was silent, but not deserted. The artist formerly known as Prince was sitting on a beanbag in the middle of the room, meditating deeply on a crystal sphere with "Christmas Eve" engraved on it, which he held reverently.
"Well, that's a funny sort of ending, isn't it?" asked Bill.
"Let's hope so," replied Graeme.