WARNING: DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 14
The other day, I went to a cafe on University for some lunch (jacket potato with cheese and ham) and encountered a massive blow up Father Christmas. Here’s the picture for evidence:
This chance meeting with the huge Santa reminded me of years of sitting on his knee as a child and telling him what I would like for Christmas. Looking back, I don’t think I utilised these meetings enough, why didn’t I ask Father Christmas the big questions, the questions everyone wants to know the answer for. This got me thinking, if I were to meet the real Saint Nicholas today, what would I ask him? Where would we go for lunch? What would he be wearing?
I imagine we’d sit in my mothers kitchen for a roast and some drinks after. He’d be wearing his classic red outfit while I’d be wearing a christmas jumper, reindeer ears, and christmas themed earrings which would flash, just to show him I really was a massive fan.
Now, I have an endless list of questions, here are some of them:
Did you really buy me all those presents throughout the years? Did you receive my Christmas list letters in the post (I always thought addressing them to the North Pole was a bit vague)? Whats your Christmas budget? Do you really have a naughty list? Was I ever on it? (he’d shake his head, and whisper that my brothers definitely were on the list for quite a few years…knew it!) How come my parents handwriting and yours is extremely similar? Did Rudolph get the carrots we left out for him? How is Rudolph? Anyone worked out whats going on with his nose yet? Do you have a holiday home, surely the North Pole gets a bit boring? (I imagine him and Mrs Claus would spend the New Year in Thailand sunning themselves with some cocktails on the beach after a strenuous Christmas) Which Father Christmas film was the most accurate portrayal of you? Have you ever been tempted to sack off Christmas? How did you land this job? And can I intern?
I’d probably finish there, ask him for a photo and then would share some drinks, perhaps mulled wine, finally part our ways, never to meet again.