The man who killed Santa
Christmas 2006 - the year I dropped the ultimate Christmas bollock. It involved - a) alcohol, b) a small child and c) the existence, or otherwise, of a popular but possibly mythical figure who lives at the North Pole and who's initials are S.C.
In my defence, conversation round the table with my mother and father in law on Christmas Eve touched on whether my oldest nephew (age 9) still believed in Santa. We 'phoned his mother and the word came back to the table - apparently not.
So Christmas Day, over to the in-laws. It has to be said, I had had a drink, or two. My nephew and I are sitting there and so I asked 'so, what do you think about Santa then?'.
I suppose, in hindsight, I should have just shut the hell up. But no, I had to prattle on about how different cultures believed in different winter spirits, about man's need to have an anthromorphic visualisation of the season, about Jack Frost and every other Terry Pratchett character.
Nephew goes to bed, I'm struggling into my coat and my sister-in-law appears in front of me, like the Demon King in a panto.
'My son has just told me that you told him that Santa doesn't really exist.'
I don't really recall what happened next, but I think my wife bundled me out of the house. Got me home, put me to bed, waited until the next morning and then gave me what, in some circles, might be described as a 'telling off'. God, there's nothing worse than being on the wrong end of a well-deserved telling off.
So my plan is this - never see my sister or brother in-law, or their children, again.
Somewhat inpractical I know, but best for all in the long run. Best for them because there are two kids aged seven and four who still believe in Santa, best for me because they were just getting to that age when they could beat me on the Nintendo and I hate that.
So, as a result, I have knocked the Ipswitch strangler off of the top of the list as Britain's most evil man! Naturally my friends think this is all hilarious and can't wait for the follow up at Easter 'the truth about Jesus - what even Dan Brown wouldn't tell you'.
In my defence, conversation round the table with my mother and father in law on Christmas Eve touched on whether my oldest nephew (age 9) still believed in Santa. We 'phoned his mother and the word came back to the table - apparently not.
So Christmas Day, over to the in-laws. It has to be said, I had had a drink, or two. My nephew and I are sitting there and so I asked 'so, what do you think about Santa then?'.
I suppose, in hindsight, I should have just shut the hell up. But no, I had to prattle on about how different cultures believed in different winter spirits, about man's need to have an anthromorphic visualisation of the season, about Jack Frost and every other Terry Pratchett character.
Nephew goes to bed, I'm struggling into my coat and my sister-in-law appears in front of me, like the Demon King in a panto.
'My son has just told me that you told him that Santa doesn't really exist.'
I don't really recall what happened next, but I think my wife bundled me out of the house. Got me home, put me to bed, waited until the next morning and then gave me what, in some circles, might be described as a 'telling off'. God, there's nothing worse than being on the wrong end of a well-deserved telling off.
So my plan is this - never see my sister or brother in-law, or their children, again.
Somewhat inpractical I know, but best for all in the long run. Best for them because there are two kids aged seven and four who still believe in Santa, best for me because they were just getting to that age when they could beat me on the Nintendo and I hate that.
So, as a result, I have knocked the Ipswitch strangler off of the top of the list as Britain's most evil man! Naturally my friends think this is all hilarious and can't wait for the follow up at Easter 'the truth about Jesus - what even Dan Brown wouldn't tell you'.
2 Comments:
Oh.My.Gosh. I truly hope this is just one of your stories "for effect". Certainly this did not really happen. Certainly you are not stupid enough to even present such an assanine (sp?) subject to a 9-year old. For the future (which I'm sure you've ruined for your nephew--he's sure to spray a crowd with bullets from the top of a building someday soon), when speaking with a 9-year old who MAY OR MAY NOT believe in Santa, especially if he still has siblings who do, you MUST PRETEND LIKE YOU BELIEVE TOO!!! It's better for a 9-year old to tell you that you're a dumbass than the other way around. At least then he'll briefly think he knows more than Uncle Christmas-ruiner.
Anyway, I am going to go on believing that you've made the whole story up----just like that awful hoof you shot a picture of------
Oh Dear.....
Ah well, never mind. He may well have wound up atop a tall building with an automatic weapon aimed for his classmates, but then that would make him American, right?
He'll live...and you'll be a legend!
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