News & Views

Santa's Costa living crisis

“My whole body is tingling all over after that,” said Santa, his white beard dripping onto the sun-bleached sand.

“There’s nothing quite like a dip in the Med on Christmas Eve to shake off the blues, my dear,” said Mrs Claus, as Santa struggled out of his swimming shorts under his beach towel. Time and gravity were taking their toll on him, she mused. His torso, once lean and muscled from humping heavy sacks of presents, now reminded her of melting snow slipping from a chalet roof.

As Mrs Claus sipped her lemon tea and Santa awaited his venti pumpkin spice latte, Mrs Claus decided the moment was right.

“I’ve noticed that you’ve not been your usual jolly self these last few months and I was wondering if you wanted to share what’s on your mind.”

Santa paused while the waiter slopped his coffee into the saucer and walked off without an apology. “I thought selling our business to the employees last year would give me a new lease of life and the time to do all the things we’ve dreamed of, but all I feel is lost.”

“But we’ve achieved everything we set out to do,” said Mrs Claus. “To build North Pole Logistics into a global Christmas parcel delivery service, achieve a tidy exit, and leave an enduring legacy for our wonderful staff.”

“I know, but I think I’ve got what is commonly called seller’s remorse. I’m convinced we should sell up here, return to Lapland and get some pro bono charity work. Besides, I’m tired of plastering calamine lotion on my prickly heat.”

They both sat in stony silence as the enormity of what Santa had just said sank in.

They arrived at Rovaniemi Airport, having sold their villa to a glum couple who drove a black Range Rover with tinted windows.

As they approached the reception of North Pole Logistics, like George Bailey entering Pottersville, they were horrified to see a large banner above the door saying:

UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT

NO MORE GIFTS FOR TODDLERS - THEY WON’T REMEMBER IT ANYWAY!

The warehouse that once stored Christmas gifts was now full of gambling machines and the great chair that Santa sat on to greet children lay rotting in the sleigh park. There was not an elf in sight.

Santa was so shocked that he slumped to the snow-covered ground. A seeping blackness filled his head and the last thing he remembered was the distant sound of laughter.

As he came to, Santa could feel a moist tongue on the side of his face and a familiar smell of sour salty breath.

“Is that you, Rudolph, my trusty friend?” he said, not fully awake. “I’m so sorry I deserted you all. I’ve come back to put things right and I’ll never leave you again.”

He lifted his hand to stroke Rudolph’s cheek to find his wet trunks lying across his face.

“Wake up, Santa, you’re disturbing all the other sunbathers!” Mrs Claus said, in a stage whisper. “I’ve told you about this before. If you’re going to have a siesta, for goodness’ sake go back to the villa.”

Like Scrooge on Christmas morning, Santa sat bolt upright.

“I’ve just had the most terrible nightmare,” he wailed.

“You’re telling me! You’ve been shouting in your sleep and saying the most awful things about the under threes. People have been staring.”

“Oh Lord, forgive me for being such a classic fool, my dear. You are right, as always. I’ve been missing the love of everyone we once worked with, but I have to look forwards not backwards.”

“Quite so,” she said. “Marbella may not be Lapland but, if you look for it, I’ve got a sneaky feeling you’ll find that love, actually, is all around.”

And Santa was better than his word. He carried the joy of Christmas morning in his heart and found peace and contentment at last on the Costa del Sol, holidaying in Lapland every year.

Once you’re done, never loiter like a bad smell, his lawyer had told him. Fine advice, he thought, though he noticed his lawyer had loitered until he’d been fully paid.

As Santa turned to wish his wife a Merry Christmas, he could hear the ocean waves lapping on the shore. It reminded him a little of the soft grunt of grazing reindeer.