.From the dim and distant

Dear Christmas survivor

I hope your festivities were wonderful. Santa had a few problems on the big night. He’d been under the weather and the duvet for a few days, tossing and turning, musing over ‘beard in or out’.

“I’d better get up, there are a billion kids waiting for their prezzies. I’ll just check the email and see who wants what”. He got out of bed and fell over, “bugger, that’s the third time this week”. He found 400 E-mails in the inbox and 760 million in the spam. “Mmm, that worked well, must thank the Grinch”.

“How many reindeer do the trip?.. There’s 16 of the bleeders. Ah well, should be a bit quicker. This sack’s heavy, thought they’d stopped those lead balloons”. First couple of thousand deliveries, no worries, but then he dropped the sat nav. “Ah well, back to the D-V (the front three and back three pages are always missing). I must have spilt something on it, it’s all [filtered naughty word] blurred”.

Then the runners really started to come off. Somebody who was helping the environment had fitted a windmill on to the roof. Rudolph saw it too late, off came the snoot and out came the poo. The others slipped on it, so it was more of a touch cloth than a touch down. The sack slipped out of his hand and bounced down the s**t streaked roof. “No matter, I’ll sort it later, my feet are freezing and the old pins are stiff as a ***g pole”.

Now chimneys are never an issue despite urban myth, but this year, there were problems “Bleedin’ 'ell that’s tight, must be those tablets the Doctor put me on”. With all the grace of a baby elephant he landed in the hearth and nearly toasted the marshmallows.

“I’m knackered…I know, I’ll have a smoke and the glass of sherry”. Twenty minutes later, he was ready for action…on, the fridge. “I’m starving, so I’ll have a little snackette”. Four pounds of stilton, a trifle, a pound of sprouts, a quart of double cream and a bottle of breast milk later, it was time for a nap, but not before he’d fallen through the Christmas tree, and crushed a couple of baubles.

The kids found him in the morning, kicked him and burst out crying. Mummy and Daddy were as equally unsympathetic and when he started slurring his words, thought he was drunk. They got him to his feet, but he was standing like a banana and trying to grip the door frame. He fell over again.

“I feel very strange, can you phone Mrs Santa please? She’ll know what’s wrong”.


1 Like

hiya steve i think i am santa! i had encounter with my tree-lay on floor for 30 mins-2 baubles broken… ach well-i survived! happy new year-have a guid 'un! e xxx

Hi Els,are you alright after the gravity attack?Newton is an effin’ nuisance.So you started taking the decorations down early,and couldn’t be bothered packing all of the stuff.Seems reasonable.Are you Mr or Mrs Santa,or as yet undecided?

Laters, S xx

Good Evening WB,

I’ve had to stop reading at para. 4…I know laughter is meant to be good thing…I’ll tread carefully…don’t want to slip…I mean CHOKE !


Mrs Santa’s always know what’s wrong.


Happy New Year folks