Summer Santa

Getting ready for Xmas

‘There's that noise again! I think there's a pigeon fallen down the chimney.’

‘We don't have a chimney any more. Remember? The builders took it out because the brickwork was a bit dodgy.’

‘There it is again.’

‘It don't sound like no pigeon to me….It's more like tapping.’

‘Tapping? That's thumping, that's what that is. It ain’t no pigeon. More like a ruddy great eagle!’

‘I s’pose I'd better go look. Them builders left an access hatch in the loft. Where’s the torch? Alright! I'm coming. Gawd! It sounds like a hefalump got stuck.’

‘Or Father Christmas!’

‘Don’t be daft. The only Nicholas that's going to turn up here is Old Nick, not Saint Nick.’

‘Well. I believe.’

‘Yeah. Tooth Fairy, Santa and the Elves, The Reindeer Nine and the Melting Snowmen. Sounds like a Rock Concert line up. You go look. Here's the torch. I'll hold the ladder.’

‘Who's there? Where's the hatch latch?’

‘The latch hatch catch is in the middle of the old chimney breast chest.’

‘Shaddup…..Got it.’

‘Arrrggghhh!’

‘Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhh….Who are you?’

‘Get that light out of me eyes! Who do think I am? Father Christmas?’

‘Wellll…I suppose under all that soot you could be…’

‘Look. No jolly red hat or coat. I'm as thin as a rake. And it's the middle of summer.’

‘But you've got a big bag of presents.’

‘It's reindeer fodder. Donder and Blitzen are getting on a bit, so I have to leave caches of fodder in disused chimneys. They can't do the round the world on carrots you know.’

‘Not enough calories in carrots?’

‘Don’t laugh. They don't like mince pies, so I eat them. It takes half the year to shift the weight I pile on. I can't give them the sherry either, there's a law about driving reindeer who are under the influence.’

‘What about Dasher and Dancer and the rest of them?’

‘They'll be preggers. All the reindeer are does. They don't shed their antlers like the stags do.’

‘Even Rudolf?’

‘Ah. A bit contentious, that. Rudolf identifies as a doe.’

‘What's happening? Is there something stuck? Shall I come up?’

‘Better not. It's probably best you don't know. It's just, ummmm, a skinny Santa dropping off Christmas snacks for starving reindeer. We were just discussing - never mind. I'll be down in a tick, once I've got the lichen bag stowed away properly.’

‘Yeah. Right. Just ask the Jolly Old Gentleman not to get my present muddled up next time. I want a fat bank account and a thin body. Not the other way around.”

‘Ho, ho, ho. I'll have a word with Chief Elf, but there's the being good requirement. You sure messed it up last year. And it's already a bit dubious this year. Oh! Just look at the time. I'd better fly. Just do me a favour this December. No mince pies. A nice bit of cheese for a change. Away! On Comet! On Cupid!’

‘All done. I'm on my way down.’

500 words