Here at The Fatdog Broadcasting Corporation things have gone a little quiet of late. The ever demanding sleigh bells of Christmas have been ringing mightily, eating away at both bank balance and free time.
The Fatdog failed to show appropriate festive enthusiasm at the erection of the “Tree” in the living room, possibly because her rug had to be moved from its traditional resting place to accommodate 6 feet of slowly decaying vegetation. FD did however become quite animated at the annual Rotary Club Santa drive past.
This Santa doesn’t sneak about at night, visiting children’s bedrooms when they are safely fast asleep. Oh no! He parades brazenly around the streets in a gaudy trailer towed by a mechanised Rudolph substitute.
To the cacophony of electronically distorted Christmas favourites and enough flashing lights to warn of a major traffic accident, our gallus Santa danced up and down on his sleigh, waving to wide eyed adults (and the odd child) peering from fairy light covered doors and windows.
We look forward to this shameless piece of pantomime every year since we now stay at the bottom of a cul-de-sac and the “sleigh” stops outside our front door. When the weans were young we stayed on the Main Street and they only had a few seconds to make it to the window as Santa shot past at 30mph. He never stopped or looked up. It did however provide a great excuse for not buying them Christmas presents.
We opened the front door to throw money at the elves and wave to the tubby guy in the red coat and white beard. The Bleating Sheep thundered down the stairs and proceeded to dance along with the gyrating Mr Clause. After all those years of Santa deprivation, and now approaching mid-twenties, she was making up for lost time. The Fatdog wormed her way between J and I, to gaze adoringly at “Father Bonio”, tail wagging furiously in expectation of treats to come.