I sing of arms and the man . . . Or would, if Virgil had not already done so

Maybe: Marley was dead, to begin with . . . That's nice, snappy and – Dickensian. Try again

All happy families are alike but all unhappy families are . . .Oh Bugger!

Ok! Ok! How about: In the year 1815 Monsignor Charles – Francois – Bienvenu Myriel was Bishop of Digne . . . Surely no-one's used that before. They have? But it's so dull. Fine

Now I have it:

In Paris in the year 1832 there lived a convict, his daughter, a lawyer and an inspector of Police (first class). Obviously more people inhabited Paris than just these four. I don't know the exact population of early 19th century Paris off hand, but I'm sure that it was considerably larger than four. Larger by many, many people, some of whom we will meet in the course of this tale but most of whom we won't.
Now the lawyer (whose name was Marius) was in love with the convict's daughter (whose name was Cosette) and she with him. However, the police Inspector (whom we shall call Javert, since that was his name) was not in love with her, nor was the convict in love with the police inspector and it is certain that neither of them were enamoured of the lawyer.
The convict, one Jean Valjean, in particular did not love Marius. The only way I could think of to fit the words 'Marius', 'love' and 'Jean Valjean' into the same sentence run thus: " Jean Valjean would love to watch Marius choke to death on a coconut macaroon."
He is watching the young lawyer now, sitting with his daughter in the garden, under the apple tree where they think he can't see them. Which, without the aid of the handy little spyglass he bought in a nautical shop in the Tuilleries, he would not ordinarily be able to do.
"I love you, Sugar Bun," croons the lawyer.
"I love you too, Snuggles," replies Cosette sweetly.
"I love you, Tiddle Bug."
"I love you, Pooky."
"Honey bunch."
""Cuddlepop."
"Sausage."
"Melon ball."
Jean Valjean fights back a wave of nausea. This has to stop, and soon. For one thing, the amount he has to spend on indigestion medicines is positively ruinous! And he wants his daughter back – the sensitive, devoted, caring girl who used to like discussing literature, science and current affairs rather than the ickily hormonal birdbrain that has recently replaced her.
"That's it!" Jean Valjean says to himself, "We'll go away. Somewhere far, far away. But it can't be just anywhere. Cosette and I must go somewhere completely devoid of romance. But where?" The old lag reflects for a moment before clapping his hands together in delight: "Oh but I am a fool! The answer is obviously England!"

"Have you packed your toothbrush, darling?"
"Yes Daddy."
"And toothpaste?"
"Yes Daddy."
"And did you make sure the lid was on properly? We don't want things leaking and making a cacky mess in your valise, do we now?"
"No Daddy."
"Did you pack your bible?"
"Yes Daddy."
"Now about an umbrella? It's very rainy in England."
"Yes Daddy. Why are we going to England, Daddy? Are we going to go shopping?"
Valjean briefly casts a glance over the ten trunks that Cosette has already filled with her clothes and frowns. "Ah, what the heck," he thinks, "Soon my life will be a sleazy lawyer free zone!" So he takes a deep breath and relies indulgently, "Yes darling, we'll go shopping. Now, do you have some warm slippers?"
"Yes Daddy. Where's my diary?"
"Bottom left hand drawer of the bureau," replies Valjean automatically.
"How do you know? asks Cosette, pouting and looking teary, "Have you been reading it? That's simply beastly! It's private! Life's so unfair – I hate you!"
"I snoop because I care. Anyway, you could read mine if you wanted to."
"Why would I want to? It would be boring: "Monday – did nothing, Tuesday – nothing, Wednesday – nothing, Thursday – WALKED AROUND THE GARDEN. My heart still palpitates with excitement, Friday – nothing."
"That's hardly fair – I went out Wednesday last. Anyway, it's a bit rich coming from the girl who devoted three pages to writing about the sparrows on the roof and SIX pages to practising signing 'Mlle Euphrasie Pontmercy'"
"I can't believe you read that! What is your problem Daddy? Didn't you get enough love in your childhood or something?"

"And then he told me that we were going to live in England forever and confiscated my curl papers for a week as a punishment for being cheeky. It's so unfair! What are we going to do? This is dreadful."
"Yes, your hair is looking a bit limp, my Petit-four."
"No, about my going to England, Sweetheart."
"I could turn up tomorrow in my shining suit of armour and carry you away on a white charger to my fairytale castle on the Brittany coast!"
"Do you have a suit of armour, a white charger and a fairytale castle on the Brittany coast Marius my love?"
"No."
"Ah. Why don't you go to your grandfather and aunt, get some money, buy some nice new clothes and then ask Daddy for my hand in marriage?"
"I can't. Grandfather and Auntie have forgotten about me. I flew up to the nursery window and there was another little boy asleep in my bed. So I flew away and went to live with the lost boys and a small crazy fairy who's secretly in love with me."
"Did you really, Marius my love?"
"No, I live with Courfeyrac and Eponine."
"Why don't you come with us?"
"I can't. I don't have a passport."
"Oh Babycakes – promise you'll find some way of following me."
"I promise, Chubbycheeks."
"Peppermint."
"Choufleur."
"Diddums."
Ah, young love! Is there anything more toothachingly sweet? This idyll was interrupted by the voice of Jean Valjean (Amplified by the handy speaking trumpet he had bought in a junk shop in Porte Saint-Martin) calling: "Cosette, have you triple checked your packing? Do you have everything?"
"Everything but the kitchen sink, Daddy," Cosette grumbled as she stumped back up the garden towards the house.