Excerpts from the Semi-Secret Blog of ‘Nick Claus’

14 December 2006
It happened again last night. Couldn’t get the ‘sleigh’ up. Mrs Claus tried her damnedest to coax it into the air for nearly an hour but to no avail. She said it didn’t matter (just like she said it doesn’t matter how big your sleigh is, just how much reindeer-power you’ve got) but I know it does.

Stress, God knows, I know it’s the stress but do you think that helps at all? Every year it’s like this, she says, always the same this close to the big night. She’s half right. Every year is the same. Every year is worse than the one before.

15 December 2006
I’ve got the elves working 18 hour shifts, I’ve got the elf kiddies in my little pony sweatshops. I’m cutting corners left right and centre (trust me, you don’t want your kids to get the chemistry set this year) and still it’s not enough.

Every year there are more kids and every year more people want in on the Christmas thing. What business have the fucking Hindus and communist Chinese got with Christmas? Christ know you don’t have to be religious to have me shitting presents down your chimney but in the good old days you pretty much had to be white, Goddamnit. They tell me its called globalization. I know where they can stick their globe.

‘Sleigh’ still snowbound. Mrs Claus barely pretended to try.

16 December 2006
Regular readers know I harp on this theme all the time but in the old days you could make ends meet by slipping a few borderline kiddies onto the naughty list. Always more lumps of coal to go around. But now every fucker is so litigious. If I so much as consider taking someone off the nice list I get hassled by Parent Teacher Associations and their lawyers.

How dare I ruin their Christmas? Who the hell do they think they are? Who the hell do they think I am?

Timmy microwaves the cat, Timmy still gets fucking rollerblades. What’s up with that?

Caught Mrs Claus eyeing off Binky Merryweather in Workshop #13.

17 December 2006
I can’t eat, I’m losing weight. I thought Mrs Claus might like me a little more trim but no she says she likes a little roof over the ole snow-mobile. I can’t do anything right.

Binky hasn’t got a roof, sure as shit. He’s lithe, perky and great with his hands. He’s like a four-foot Jude Law. When all this is over I’m gonna bust him down to the my first potty assembly line.

When all this is over…. 8 sleeps, 8 fucking sleeps to go.

Special Bonus Update: the blog of Binky Merryweather