The Real Father Christmas

When I was a little boy, I was well aware of the conceptual problems of Father Christmas appearing at every school, shopping centre, church hall and crappy kids party in the country, simultaneously. Let alone the fact that they all looked a bit different (and some smelled funny).

I was a clever kid and figured that clearly there was some sort of sleight of hand going on.

Of course, when you’re a kid you want to believe. Coz if you stop, then so might the presents.

So each year, I’d meet two or three Father Christmases (Father Christmi?) but not be entirely convinced by all of them. One, however, was special.

I visited him each year, in an amazing multi-coloured grotto in a cave at my school Christmas fayre. He was particularly grumpy and would question why on earth you’d want what you just asked for. But it was ok: he was the REAL Father Christmas.

I knew it was the real one, because whatever I asked him for as my main presents, I got. If I saw an imposter Father Christmas later, and asked for something different, I wouldn’t get it. Only things I asked for at the school fayre would turn up under the tree on Christmas morning.

It was well over 10 years before I discovered how this magic worked. My mum told me that since the grotto was made of paper (brown paper making the craggy cave outside and crepe paper giving the magical interior) she just stood outside behind where Father Christmas sat, and listened to what I asked for