Santa has not been good

The origin of this idea is the phrase ‘Has Santa been good to you?’

It’s more of a thing in Scotland, by my reckoning, though it seems to be in lots of places now.

I wondered what it would be like if Santa had not been good: not that we’re having bad Santas on this page, but because he was in someone else’s bad books.

So here’s a little exploration of what that might look like. Page breaks marked in below.
And if anyone fancies illustrating it, do let me know.

===

Santa had not been good.

He was on Mum’s naughty list.

He got his first warning on 6 December, the feast of St Nicholas.

—

He was getting out of bed to go to the workshop, and see how it was all coming along.

He put his feet into his boots and – there it was! He couldn’t get them on.

He knew he hadn’t eaten so much that his boots wouldn’t fit. Boots, after all, do not change size after mince pies.

—

He upended the boot on the right, and checked.

A fat lump of coal rolled out, and trickled its dust on the rug beside the bed.

Santa blinked. Slowly, he tried the other boot.

—

An even bigger lump of coal – tied round with string.

The note had got a bit sooty, but Santa could read it:

‘You have not been good, Santa. You are on my naughty list! Mum.’

—

What was it all about? Santa racked his brains to think.

The reindeer might have trecked some of the magic reindeer food into the flowerbeds, while he was inside. That was possible.

He tried to be in and out, quick, but the reindeer spent more time standing than flying, some nights. It depended on how firm the fruitcake was.

—

Maybe he’d been spotted at that department store, back at the start of November!

Santa blushed. He knew Mum was not keen on That Sort of Thing.

The trouble was, Santa’s factory system needed an upgrade. Presents for everyone else, but not for him, ho ho!

—

It was the same story every year. He ended up having to do public appearances to fund the Christmas Eve activities.

He even lent out the reindeer to those ceremonies where they switched all the lights on.

Santa put the coal on one side, in case he wanted to make a snowman later. Then he set off for the workshop.

—

The next day, there was another warning. The bells were missing from the reindeer harness. There was a note:

‘Santa. I am fed up with the kids not going to sleep until all hours on Christmas Eve. They say they are listening for the bells on the reindeer.

I am going to to tell them that Neighbourhood Watch has banned you for too much noise on Christmas Eve.’

—

Santa gulped. It was one thing for Mum to be cross, but another to get a whole group of grown-ups involved.

(Santa wasn’t too keen on grown-ups. They had funny ideas about whether Christmas was worth it.)

And so it went on. Every day, another sign; another note. His belt had gone, so he couldn’t hold his trousers up properly.

—

There was a sudden mysterious disappearance of tape for the presents. Santa donated all his bootlaces, and some worn out reins.

The elves turned up one morning to find Congratulations! You’re Married! wrapping paper on their benches.

(They’d already wrapped a few smaller islands’ worth of presents before anyone spotted it. Those had to be done again.)

—

After a week’s worth of  warnings, Santa had had enough. He decided that, as he wasn’t too sure where Mum lived, he would need to go public.

He put up a special notice on his website: ‘To the bringer of mysterious gifts!

Let’s talk. Send me an email, so I can respond to you.’

—

Then the emails started coming. Trouble was, it wasn’t just Mum who was a bit hot under the collar about it.

It was all the others: Mummy, Mama, Mom, Mutti. You name them, they were not pleased.

‘Why do you get the kids so excited? I am worn out the next morning, because they come into our room so early!’

—

‘What do you mean, not finishing those gingerbread biscuits properly? Weren’t they good enough?’

‘Why did you rebrand? Wasn’t Father Christmas good enough for you?’

Santa hung his head. He had enjoyed being Father Christmas. St Nicholas, that was his real favourite.

—

The list went on and on. There was all this cooking, and not enough sleep for parents.

There was last-minute costume making out of tinfoil, and travelling in bad weather.

But the main difficulty was that Mum had been Very Good, all year, and especially in December. And no one seemed to notice.

—

Santa nodded thoughtfully. He knew that feeling.

There he was, trying to Do It All, every year (with some obvious support from the elves, and the reindeer).

Turned out Mum felt the same. They were both trying to cover everything – and getting tired in the process.

—

Santa looked at his inbox. So many mums and mummies, muttis and mamas.

All trying to get it right too.

All hoping for a bit of mystery and excitement for their kids – maybe even for themselves.

—

Santa sent out a big email to them all. He sighed when it had gone (if only the presents themselves could go out that quickly!).

He didn’t get the bells back, but his belt did turn up.

And on Christmas Eve, under every mince pie, every solitary glass of sherry, there was a little note.

—

It said: ‘OK’. That was all. And every time, Santa replaced it with a note of his own:

‘Dear Children. Enjoy the special day. And next year, I will only bring your stocking.

Mum, Dad, aunties, uncles, neighbours down the street - they will do the rest.’

—

Santa arrived home. It had been a long night.

The snowman with the coal eyes stood on sentry duty outside. There was a small package tied to his broom.

Santa removed the package, and carried it indoors.

—

And inside was a little book, full of recipes. Mince pies, Christmas cake, gingerbread…everything he loved, and everything he usually had to wait all year for.

Santa smiled. He could eat, drink and be merry at any time he fancied.

And with a whole year to try them out, he could afford not to eat so much at one sitting.

—

And there was the note too. ‘To Santa. Thank you for the new arrangement.

I am sure you are going to be very good next year.

Love from Mum.’