Oi you! Yeh, you! I’m talking to you. You, looking at this on that computer screen. Come here. Don’t be scared. Grab my hand. Well done. ‘We...re wa....lking in the a....ir...’  And look! Look! We’re already over the North Sea. Here’s Norway. Over there’s Finland. Ahah, the land of the Lapps. Now, at last! Yahoo! The North Pole! Alright, alright, I know it’s a tad chilly, and you’re not dressed for it. Just wobble from side to side and blow into your hands. Now, look left a bit. No, I said left … do try to concentrate! See that flag? OK, flags, then. And don’t be so pedantic!. Yes, I know you can’t help it - you do Flash Fiction! There, just here, ’midst the swirling, glistening snow, that huge dark shape. See it? Come on. Closer. Aye, you’re right, it is. It’s Santa’s Workshop!

So just let’s listen in … 



“Now Right-Hand Elf. What do you mean they won’t load up?”

“It’s them zero hours contracts, Santa. They’re saying you’re worse than that Mike Ashley. They’ve downed tools. Claim their jobs is gettin’ ‘arder, too. That Donald request just about took the mince pie.”

“What about it?”

“All that weight on the sleigh! A 2000 mile wall! The 'Ealf ‘n Safety Elf told ‘em not to touch it. And the reindeer is all acting up.”

“What? Even little Rudolph?”

“He's still not forgiven you for changing his name.” 

“Adolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer wouldn't've gone down too well in the 40’s when Walt created him. Anyway, I don’t know why you’re all getting at me. I'm a reassuring myth - bringing joy to the world for centuries.”

“Yer jokin’ aint ya? You were invented in the Coca-Cola campaign of 1931.”

“Rubbish -  they just changed me from green to red and called me Santa instead of Father Christmas. I blame globalisation. I’m actually the pagan embodiment of Midwinter - The Spirit of Bingeing, Bawdiness and Wassailing (whatever that is).”

“Look at this request. It’s from Vladimir.”

“Now what can he want? He’s got billions stashed away!” 

“He says: ‘Zdravstvuj Santa, You know zat calendar of me - ze one wiz me astride ze Harley Davidson, zen me wrestling ze brown bears, zen me running with ze wolves and me swimming up ze Volga, etzetera? And zose aren’t man-boobs you know! Zey’re highly defined pectorals - proper ripped. I want you to deliver zis calendar to every one of my peoples. P.S. Don’t forget to include Ukraine, Crimea … and Syria. Oh, and my mate Donald.’ “

“Bah!”

“Then there’s this’n. From Theresa - says she doesn’t know what she wants. Says she'll know when you tell her what she's having. She’d prefer a soft one but will accept a hard one and remember Christmas means Christmas.”

“Oh for goodness’ sake! Well, at least that’s the last of the wish-lists.”

“No. There’s another one here. It’s a six-year-old from Aleppo. He asks if you can help stop his mother crying.”