Run....Santa.....Run...

I spent ten minutes this morning explaining to Accountant that we had a problem with our electrics. He nodded and grunted in all the right places as I told him that lights were constantly blowing and still weren’t working when I replaced the lightbulbs. His considered response, “replace the lightbulbs”. Thanks Sweetheart, as handy as ever.

Spent today at Meerkat Manor with the Meerkat himself, LucyWucy and the Poff who is now fully recovered from her traumatic encounter with Santa. Not the best day for my diet after eating my own body weight in roast potatoes.

Wuce and I popped out to Debenhams which was eerily quiet. Santa was stationed on the third floor but was somewhat redundant as there were no children anywhere. He was trying his best to look jovial but I could tell his festive cheer was fading and it was clearly the end of a long day.

When the slightly muffled, blood curdling screams began it was hard to tell exactly where they were coming from. As they got louder it was clear to both Wuce, Santa and myself, that something very, very unhappy was being pushed, against it’s will, in Santa’s direction.

We all saw it at the same time by which point it was too late for any of us, least of all poor Santa in all his clobber, to run and hide. I saw the look of terror in Father Christmas’ eyes as the child was parked before him, writhing and hissing in it’s pram. Thank God it was strapped in. The parents were looking expectantly at Santa. I don’t know how Santa got on with the Munsters as being squeamish, I wanted to leave before the child’s head exploded, but my thoughts were with him.

Got sprung when we got home after I ate Accountant’s Day Three choccie on his Advent Calendar. I spent ages lovingly smoothing the foil back over the empty mould where the chocolate once sat and reclosing the little cardboard door. He recovered swiftly and, not being one for self-deprivation, promptly ate Day Four.