Well, Christmas Eve is the last day that Father Christmas is available to be visited by the boys and girls of the world. Christmas Eve is my last day as Father Christmas.
The suit, although not the strangely wide belt, has survived. Possibly the only casualty is the beard. The daily sticking on with extra strength mastic, and then pulling it off at the end of the day, plus the emergency mastic touch-ups during the day, have made the underside look disgusting. The bits that affix to my upper lip and my chin look as if somebody has sicked up a porridge. If I ever do this again, I need a new beard. Definitely. A few of them.
So, let’s recap on this experience.
I’m only here because I lost a bet with somebody and my forfeit was to be Father Christmas. I have been here every day since the beginning of December.
Have I learned never to enter into such bets again? Have I hated every minute?
Actually, I’ve really enjoyed it. True, I’m still completely against the lie of Father Christmas in the first place, and I consider it to be a form of mental abuse for children. But, since I can’t really beat the lie, maybe my conscience is clear because I have tried to be the best Santa.
I’ve tried to listen, to be witty, to engage and to make the children laugh and enjoy their visit. On the whole, I think I achieved this.
I’ve learnt so much too. I’ve mainly learnt that well over 50% of the parents and grandparents are useless and should be put to sleep.
I’ve also learnt that Christmas anticipation is fun.
So, my final thoughts as I painfully rip the beard from my now reddened, battered and bruised face for the last time?
I want to do this again next year! Yes I do!
(PS. On the titles of all the articles I’ve written about my Father Christmas experience: Search Youtube for the Goodies singing “Father Christmas Do Not Touch Me”, and it’ll make sense in a very non-PC way.)
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