SANTA’S BLOG (2012) – Day 7


Aagggggghhhhhhhhhh! Blummin’ postman turned up today with the latest batch of Letters To Santa. No completely new ones, but 120 million of the little beggars have changed their minds about what they want to find beneath the tree on Christmas morning. It always tends to even out in the end, but the logistics are a nightmare. I’ve had to pull all the staff off the ‘traditional/wooden’ section (sadly less and less popular with every passing year) and put them onto re-labelling. I told ‘em – don’t bother with the fancy calligraphy; block print’ll do for the indecisive little whelps! Mind you, I’m not sure half the elves could actually do calligraphy anymore. The way they leave school these days you’re lucky if the can write at all, and half of them can’t read without their lips moving. Shameful it is. I blame the LEA’s myself, more interested in budgets and targets that they are in education. Pah!

Well, we start loading the sleigh tomorrow, so no more last minute changes after that except for real emergencies. Tink’s worn her wings to a frazzle getting the database amended with all the new info, bless her. Don’t know what I’d do without that one. Must slip a little something extra in her bonus cheque this month. Don’t want her getting poached by the Easter Bunny.

Had a funny conversation with S. Jnr. this morning: he said he doesn’t know whether to believe in me any more. Took me a minute to work out what he meant, but then the penny dropped. He’s been watching that Tracey Beaker on CBBC and they had an episode where one of the kids is not sure whether I exist or not. Bit of a surreal conversation to be having with your own son, though. I wonder if big G ever had the same problem with JC?

Talking of JC, I had a bit of a barney with the tooth fairy the other week over him. The tooth fairy was saying he thinks JC’s a bit up himself these days, ‘cos he saw him walking around with sun-glasses on in the pub the other night. Who does he think he is? he said, Bono? Well, of course, I knew the whole story ‘cos I’d heard it from Frosty a couple of night’s previous, like. Seems Jesus got taken for a mug by those jokers at the Rugby Club, making out they didn’t believe him about the water into wine trick. Got him to knock out a couple of free carafes and by the time they’d seen those off the poor fella was well under the influence. Next thing they’re tapping him for a Ribena-into-tequila-slammers miracle and he’s standing them a fish and flatbread supper on the way home. Poor beggar didn’t know what had hit him – hung over for three days (which accounts for the sunglasses) – and in right old schtuck with the old man…

I suppose you could argue he’s a bit naive for the Son of God, but personally I think that’s a big part of his charm. Nope, he’s alright by me, the young fella, and if I hear that tooth fairy dissing him again he’ll be finding his own chuffin’ teeth under the pillow… …

Ho Hum

santa's siggy


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