BLOGMAS 2017 — #Day13: Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

How are you doing? I hope all’s well with you in your many, many grottos; oh, the laughs we shared in those grottos Santa. You remember them, don’t you Santa? You remember me?

As a child (by which I mean, “As a fifteen-nearly-sixteen-year-old”), I used to wonder whether you got all political in your job. This year, in the dead of night, are you perusing your lists not for ‘naughtiness’ or ‘niceness’, but for ‘right-wing’ and ‘left-wing’ children? In which case, which political side do you fall down on? I would presume that nationalism isn’t really your thing: after all, you fly from country to country once a year, and your job would be screwed if you were interested only in the North Pole. Maybe your a Corbynester… Republican, Democrat, Tory or Labour, I don’t care — I love you all the same.
Speaking of country-to-country, what’s immigration like, being Santa? Do you have a passport? European Health Insurance Card? And what about all the necessary vaccinations… I shudder at the mere thought!!

Santa, listen: I love and all; you brought me presents as a child, and hope of a better world as a teenager. But, I’m not being funny, you’re creepy.
“He knows when you are sleeping” — if that’s not perverted, then I feel that my understanding of the world around me is no longer valid or worthwhile any more.
“He knows if you’ve been bad or good” — Quite shitty sex talk, if I’m being honest Mr Claus: up your game.

So, I’m being told through one of those earpiece-thingies (imaginary, dear reader, imaginary) that I need to tell you what I want for Christmas this year. I’ve thought long and hard about this, and I’ve decided that, this year, I want nothing for Christmas.
How thoughtful of me, saving Santa’s time and effort for the less fortunate kids across the world. If you want to look at it that way, then do — it makes me look good. Actually though, Santa, here’s the thing: I’m sick of you moving the insulation from the top of my chimney each and every year, letting the cold air in whilst you dump my gifts, and then NEGLECT TO REPLACE IT! It’s December, Santa, and in Britain, December just happens to coincide with winter.
Winter. Is. COLD.
OK, SANTA! So this year, don’t bother coming here. Go to Australia, where it’s summer, alright?

Best Wishes, and hope to see you soon

L XX

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