It wis the mornin’ of Christmas Eve, and Santa hud the hangover fae hell.
‘Whit the fuck did ye put in ma hot chocolate last night?’ says he tae Mrs. Claus.
‘Ah thought ye could dae wi’ a wee pick-me-up,’ says she.
‘Aye, ye’ll huv tae pick me up right enough,’ says Santa, ‘Ah cannie get oot the bed.’
‘Och it wis just a wee nip o’ whisky,’ she telt him, ‘Ye’ll be awright thenight.’
‘A’m no wantin’ tae get stopped fur drink drivin,’ says Santa. ‘They reindeer cannie go in a straight line at the best o’ times.’
‘Och Rudolf ‘ll see ye awright. Noo c’moan, ye huv tae charge yer Sat Nav an’ check yer emails for any last minute letters fae the weans.’
So Santa got up tae start the busiest day of the year.
After breakfast Santa went intae the workshop tae see how the elves were gettin’ on.
‘Ur yous nearly finished?’ says he. ‘A’ve just hud a Tweet fae a wean in Japan. He wants a tablet, an’ it’s no the kind ye eat.’
‘Ye’ll huv tae check wi’ the Techie guys,’ says the Elf foreman, who wis also the Elf n’ Safety manager fur the workshop. ‘An’ Santa, ye cannie come in here withoot a hard hat. A’m sick o’ tellin’ ye that.’
‘A’ve been comin’ in here fur hunners o’ years withoot a hat,’ says he. ‘How come it’s suddenly no allowed? Have Ah gone soft in the heid or whit?’
‘Naw ye’re no soft in the heid, Santa,’ says the elf, ‘but ye will be if one o’ they machines falls on yer bonce. Ye see, aw this stuff used tae be made by hand, but since we’ve switched tae usin’ aw this machinery, it’s a right dangerous place tae work in, so it is. So beat it or A’ll huv tae shut the place doon an’ ye’ll no get yer full order. Then ye might sue us fur breach of contract.’
‘Away an’ sue yersel’ fur talkin’ shite,’ says Santa. ‘Ah want they toys ready fur six o’clock.’
So Santa went over to the technical department, where aw the computerised stuff wis made.
‘Huv yous made an extra tablet, by any chance?’ he asked the IT experts.
‘Aye, we’ve made a few extra,’ says the heid yin. ‘Whit language dae ye want it in?’
‘Japanese,’ says Santa.
‘Fur fuck sake,’ says the IT foreman elf. ‘A’ve only got a Chinese one and two German versions. Could we no just gee him the Chinese one, and pop in a Teach Yersel’ Chinese DVD as a wee bonus prezzie?’
‘Naw,’ says Santa, ‘he’s been a very good boy this year.’
‘Ur ye sure?’ says the elf.
‘Aye, Ah double checked,’ says Santa. ‘Right then, A’m goin’ tae check the reindeer. Yous can carry on noo.’
‘Ah thought ye said we wur tae make another tablet?’ says the apprentice IT elf. ‘If we carry on the noo we’ll no huv enough time tae do the work.’
‘How the fuck can you make computers in aw they languages if ye cannie even understand me?’ says Santa.
‘Well, you cannie understand the computers, even when they’re in yer own language,’ says the wee impudent elf.
‘Shut it, ya cheeky wee bastard,’ says Santa. ‘Any more o’ your lip an’ ye’re oot on yer arse, helped by ma size 10 shiny black boot.’
‘Is that a threat of violence?’ asked the apprentice elf.
‘Naw, it’s whit’s gonnie happen if ye don’t get that elfin’ tablet made pronto. An’ by the way, Mrs. Claus is gettin’ me Computer Literacy Fur the Thick, fur ma Christmas, so next year A’ll be right clued up, so Ah will. An’ Ah might know how tae use ma new smart phone too.’
‘Way tae go, Santa,’ says the young elf.
‘Whit wis that? Did you just tell me tae beat it?’ says Santa.
‘It’s a hearin’ aid he should be gettin’ fur his Christmas,’ says the IT foreman. ‘Naw Santa, we wur just sayin’ how cool ye are.’
‘Aye, it’s freezin’ up here in the North Pole, right enough,’ says he.
So Santa went oot tae the big barn where his reindeer lived, tae check they were gettin’ ready fur the big trip roon the world. But when he arrived there wis trouble afoot.
‘We’re no goin,’ says Blitzen, recently elected as their union representative, an’ who had been appointed spokesreindeer. ‘We’re on strike.’
‘How?’ says Santa, fair shocked and pure worried sick.
‘We’re in the huff,’ says she, tossin’ her heid in the air.
‘How?’ says Santa, dumbfoonert.
‘That smug bastard Rudolf always gets the lead position, an’ it’s no fair. It’s sex discrimination, fur a start. He’s last in – he’s only been with us since 1949, so how come he gets special treatment? We want equal rights, an’ turns each at bein’ the front runner, or flyer. An’ another thing – aw the songs are aboot him.’
‘Well, A’ve got a red nose that glows in the dark,’ says Rudolf. ‘There’s nae headlights on the sleigh.’
‘Ye’ve got a big heid anaw,’ says Dancer. ‘It’s a wonder we can see past it.’
‘We cannie, that’s how we aye swirl aboot in a zig-zag line. We’re tryin’ tae see where we’re goin’,’ says Prancer.
‘Even if you wur at the front, you’d still mince aboot like a fairy,’ says Rudolph.
‘That’s a homophobic remark!’ says Prancer.
‘Aye,’ Dancer agreed, fur he always took right fancy steps too.
Rudolph laughed, an’ shook his antlers. ‘The two o’ yous wid win Stricktly Come Dancin’, ya pair o’…’
‘Right, that’s enough!’ shouts Santa.
‘We’re no budgin’ till this is sorted,’ says Blitzen. ‘Whit are ye gonnie do aboot it, eh?’
Well, poor Santa didnae know whit tae do. Eventually he says,
‘Right, Rudolph, you’re at the back o’ Blitzen tonight, she’s gonnie lead us this time.’
‘But how will we see where we’re goin’ if ma red nose is shinin’ up her arse?’ says Rudolph.
‘You better no be lookin’ at ma arse,’ says Blitzen, ‘that’s sexual harrassment.’
‘Ah cannie miss it!’ says Rudolph. ‘Whit dae ye want me tae do, tuck ma heid under ma belly an’ look at ma own arse?’
‘A’ll put ye behind one o’ the boys,’ says Santa.
‘No!’ shouts Rudolph, picturin’ the sight.
‘Well, Rudolph, me n’ Blitzen huv had tae look at your baws aw night,’ says the shy Vixen, who didnae live up tae her name. ‘An’ ye don’t even put tinsel on them fur tae make them look like Christmas tree balls,’ says she.
‘That wid be takin’ oor duties too far,’ says Dasher.
‘But the lead reindeer has tae look bright an’ shiny,’ says Comet.
‘Well A’m no hingin’ tinsel fae ma tits,’ says Blitzen. ‘We’re reindeer, no Christmas decorations.’
‘But whit aboot the romance of it all?’ says Cupid. ‘We’re supposed tae look magical.’
‘He’s no real,’ says Blitzen. ‘His heid’s in the clouds.’
‘Blitzen’s a balshi bastard,’ Cupid whispered tae the one next tae him. ‘Is she a wuman or whit, Donner?’
‘A’m no sure,’ says Donner, ‘an’ how many times dae Ah have tae tell you, it’s Donder, no Donner. Dae ye think A’m a wuman anaw?’
‘A’m no sure,’ says Cupid. ‘But Ah didnae call ye Donna.’
‘Right yous two, shut up,’ says Blitzen. ‘Right then, A’m just thinkin’, Ah can wear one o’ they miners’ helmets, fur tae see where we’re goin.’
‘Nae need,’ says Santa, ‘A’ve got ma Sat Nav set.’
‘But huv ye set it right this time?’ Blitzen asked. ‘We huv tae start at Australia, no Austria.’
‘Aye, ma typin’s a lot better noo,’ says Santa. ‘Right then, ur we aw happy wi’ the new arrangements? Blitzen leads, Dasher n’ Donner behind her, followed by Cupid n’ Comet, then Vixen n’ Rudolph, then’ Dancer an’ Prancer bringin’ up the rear.’
‘A’m no sure aboot that,’ says Rudolph.
‘Aye, we’re fine,’ Blitzen telt Santa.
‘Right then, A’ll just get a wee snack an’ a wee refreshment before Ah load the sleigh, then we’ll be aff,’ says Santa, an’ he went tae get a couple o’ seal burgers an’ chips, two pints o’ beer an’ a wee half bottle o’ whisky, and a few dozen mince pies that Mrs. Claus had made. Nae vegetables, cos he couldnae grow any at the North Pole an’ he wis sick o’ frozen peas.
At nine o’clock Santa set off fur tae deliver the presents tae aw the weans in the world. Whit a busy night it was! But as long as he stuck tae his schedule, he’d be awright. It wis all goin’ well till he got tae Scotland. Ye see, hunners o’ folk hud changed their open fires tae they wood-burnin’ stoves, wi’ they wee skinny silver flus that widnae let a sparrow doon them, never mind a fat bastard like Santa.
When they landed on the first roof, Santa jumped oot the sleigh and surveyed the situation. He took a wee nip fae his hip flask, just tae warm him up a wee bit, and tae help him think.
‘How the fuck A’m Ah gonnie get doon there?’ says he.
‘That’s no oor problem,’ says Blitzen. ‘We’ve hud enough bother tryin’ tae haul yer arse this far.’
‘Ah wisnae askin’ you, deer,’ says Santa.
‘Aye, we’ve heard enough fae you today,’ says Dasher. ‘Shut yer geggy an’ geez a break.’
‘Nae fightin’ up there!’ shouts Prancer, fae the back. ‘Ye’ll gee me one o’ ma turns.’
‘Toughen up, ya poncy prat,’ says Rudolph.
‘Right yous lot, that’s enough,’ says Santa, an’ he let oot a big sigh. ‘Och well, A’ll just have tae breathe in an’ hope fur the best,’ says he, gatherin’ the presents fur that hoose.
Well, much to his surprise, doon he shot like a snotter sneezed oot a bunged-up nose, and he landed in a pile o’ powdery ash. It wisnae too bad, thought he, until he discovered that he couldnae open the wee glass door o’ the stove fae the inside. Suddenly a dug’s face appeared at the door, sniffin’ an’ wonderin’ who the fuck wis in the fire, cos she wisnae allowed near it. Santa shouted tae the dug tae let him oot, but it just stood there waggin’ it’s tail. Dugs that wurnie sledge dugs were stupit, he remembered. Whit wis he to do? He couldnae sit there much longer. The song went, “When Santa Got Stuck Up the Chimney,” no Doon the Chimney! He pulled oot his mobile phone fur tae call the fire brigade – somethin’ he had tae do more and more lately, due tae him puttin’ on a few pounds – but he had nae signal. He wis stuck there. He wid just have to go back up the flu, and in through the front door. Fuck it! thought he, tradition was dyin’ oot.
So Santa began tae climb back up the flu. But half way up, he got stuck. He wis wedged as tight as a rusty bolt in a mangled nut, in the wee silver pipe.
‘A’ll fuckin’ kill whoever invented these stupit wee chimneys!’ he shouted. ‘Blitzen, can ye hear me?’
‘The whole fuckin’ toon can hear ye,’ says she. ‘Can ye no tone it doon tae a roar?’
‘A’m stuck!’ says Santa. ‘Ye’ll have tae pull me oot.’
‘That’s no in oor contract,’ says Blitzen. ‘It’s against union rules tae do anythin’ outwith oor written agreement.’
‘A’ll write ye another agreement,’ says Santa. ‘Just get me out o’ here!’
‘Ah cannie, till Ah huv the new contract,’ says Blitzen.
‘Ah cannie gee ye it till A’m oot,’ shouts Santa, fair flummoxed.
‘Well then, we’re stuck,’ says she.
‘Naw, A’m stuck,’ says Santa,’ an’ if ye don’t pull me oot A’ll no let ye lead the team again.’
‘Ye’re no in a position tae negotiate,’ says she, ‘but Am ur.’
‘Listen here, ya militant wee shite,’ says Santa, ‘if ye don’t pull me oot, it’ll no just be Dasher’s nose that’s up yer arse, it’ll be…’
‘Ma size 10 shiny black boot,’ says aw the reindeer thegether.
‘Aye awright then,’ says Blitzen. ‘An tae think, the weans aw think ye’re a nice guy. Awright everybody, fling a rope doon an’ pull!’
‘Ah don’t think we’ve got a rope,’ says Dancer.
‘We’ve nae rope,’ shouts Rudolph.
‘Whit are we goin’ tae do?’ poor Santa said, fair panickin’ noo.
‘We’ll get the washin’ line aff the poles an’ use that,’ Blitzen suggested.
And so they did. Well, they tried an’ tried tae pull Santa oot, but it wis nae use. Whit a state they were in, fair knackered an’ wishin’ they could go fur a tea break.
‘One, two, three, heave!’ Blitzed cried, as they tried one more time.
‘Right,’ says she, ‘there’s only one more thing tae try. We’ll have tae take off intae the air, an’ that’ll pull him oot nae bother.
So the reindeer got intae position fur take off, an’ up they went, wi’ Santa hingin’ on tae the clothes rope. Wheech! Up shot Santa intae the air, flyin’ behind the sleigh like the ribbon fae a kite. But the flu flew up with him, cos he wisnae quite free of it. The children o’ the hoose looked up intae the sky, fur they’d heard aw the commotion, and they saw the tail end o’ the fleein’ bunch.
‘Ah didnae know Santa’s sleigh wis propelled wi’ a rocket,’ says wee Jimmy.
‘That’s no a rocket,’ says Alexandra, ‘that’s oor chimney.’
Santa had tae do a U-turn when the hoose wis once again in darkness, an’ deliver the presents through the front door, by shimmyin’ on his belly. He went intae the kitchen an’ poured Fairy Liquid doon the pipe, an’ he wis able tae slither oot. Fortunately the weans hud left him a big bottle o’ that cheap blow-yer-heid-aff cider, fur he wis right thirsty after aw that trouble, an’ so he shimmied back oot again on his belly, cos he coudnae stand after drinkin’ it.
‘Aye, it must huv been ma hip flask that got caught in that wee flu,’ says he, munching the shortbread they’d left him too, as he clambered back intae the sleigh and fell intae his seat. He wis aye pissed on the last part o’ the journey, wi’ aw that cheap drink the weans aye left him. Still, he wis grateful tae them fur sharin’ it with him. An’ anyway, there wisnae much traffic in the sky on Christmas Eve. In fact, in aw the years of travel, he’d never come across another sleigh.
After his initial mishap wi’ the new thin tin chimneys, Santa didnae try tae go doon any more o’ them, and he went in the front doors instead. Mind you, he nearly got done fur burglary a few times, till the cops seen it wis him. He did get done fur being drunk in charge of a sleigh though, but he got aff wi’ it, cos a greetin’ faced swearin’ Santa didnae look right.
Noo, A’d like tae tell you they all lived happily ever after, but things didnae work oot too well fur them. Mrs. Claus got depression cos she didnae huv a first name. The elves became unemployed cos aw the toys could be made by robots noo, the reindeer were let go cos Santa got a V8 engine in his sledge, then Santa wis made redundant, cos everybody got their presents delivered fae Amazon.