‘List’less and Suitless!

Published by Santa Claus on

Hi everyone. Would any of you be able to send me a great BIG hug? I would also like a large, extra-chocolately, hot chocolate with pink marshmallows in it, but sadly I don’t think it would make it through the post.

Actually gloopy drinks and oozy foods are part of the problem. My naughty and nice list is ruined and the elves aren’t sure whether they can save it. All the ink has been smudged by a giant, roast parsnip latte that was spilled by a very cheeky, and thirsty, elf named Ollie Whizz-Bean. Now, it wasn’t entirely his fault. Poor Ollie tripped over his moustache and the cup went flying out of his hands. He feels terrible about it, but sometimes these sorts of things happen.

 I have contacted Chief Scientific Genius Digbert Fudge-Winkle to see what can be done. In the meantime there will be NO LIST! This means ALL naughty children now have the chance to get their names on the nice list – so you better be good. Ho! Ho! Ho!

What has really upset me today is the news that Mr.Dump Waddle, my favourite tailor wants to retire so he can spend more time growing his poinsettias. So far not one single stitch has been sewn. What’s that Jessica? Can’t I just wear one of my day-to-day suits on December 24th? Well, the answer is I could but it wouldn’t feel special. It’s like wearing new clothes on the first day of school, the excitement of wearing a special party dress to the local disco or the joy you feel the first time you put on a big, sparkly Christmas jumper.

 (James when you wear all your new Christmas underpants you’ll understand what I’m talking about)

Every year I look forward to my new suit. I’m trying not to feel glum. Mr. Dump Waddle has recommended a new tailor so we’ll see how it goes. His name is Hobart Squish-Berry – have you heard of him? Apparently he is ‘big’ in the fashion world, but he is young. I’m not sure how I feel about a 389-year old tailor making my special suit.

I’m going to have a long soak in the tub before checking out the new sweetie factory.

Speak soon. Be good.

Oh and just for the record Maisie – no I don’t wear special party dresses to the local disco (I wear purple velveteen flares), I was just trying to make a point.

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