I’m still Father Christmas sitting in a grotto. Yes I am!
Four kids came in together today. I don’t think they were brothers and sisters. In charge of them were two somewhat large ladies who were dressed similarly. They were probably sisters in their late twenties. To describe how they looked, well, let’s say they were kind of largely rounded, like large balls, with tiny thin legs sticking out of the bottom.
Within the confines of the garden shed that’s decked out like a grotto, there really isn’t that much room to move about.
Yet, these two women took on the role of two of those yellow wind-up walking chick toys that step forward until they can’t move any further and so step backward until they can’t move any further and then step forward all over again. Both women were doing this movement quite rapidly at more or less right angles to each other.
Both were talking AT the children at the same time. Talking across each other with contradictory ‘phrases’ spouting forth, whilst simultaneously walking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. “Sit there quietly” “Talk to Santa” “Oh look it’s Father Christmas” “Tell Santa what you want” “Look at the tree and all the presents” “Tell Santa you’ve been a good girl” “Isn’t Santa’s house lovely. Tell him you like his house” “Be quiet and listen to Santa”.
These phrases continuously spewed out from these every walking three steps back and three steps forth wind-up chicks. They just kept clucking them away whilst their feet pounded the floor of the grotto with the sound of a herd of elephants despite them doing their chicken waddle.
I just sat quietly watching them as I didn’t seem to be part of whatever was going on.
I put the two ladies on Santa’s ‘delete’ list. Those poor poor children.
England's England 