santa's story

clansmanchrisSun 17/12/06 14:20

Every once in a while one gets one – an unruly brat that is, who deserves nothing more and nothing less than a good spanking! After rushing round like a headless chicken on Christmas Eve, trying to deliver all the Christmas presents I have to leave for good boys and girls, I must confess to feeling rather short-tempered, not least because of incompetent pilots narrowly missing Rudolph and my other reindeers as we fly through the skies amidst much questioning of air traffic control's wisdom in sending signals to us to give way here and continue flying there! Believe me, if air traffic control staff ever took responsibility for traffic lights on our roads, there would be more road-rage and fatalities on our roads in one night than there has been for the remainder of the year; it's no wonder some silly sod has given them the responsibility of policing the air – as opposed to the roads – in the hope of keeping death off the roads, but it does make my job that much harder when I'm overworked and underpaid as it is!!!

Rant over! I am pleased to report that last year, my last call on Christmas Eve – around half-past seven on Christmas Day morning to be precise – was at the home of the Swathim family. Mr I Will Swathim (pronounced swat-him) was kindly preparing me a cooked breakfast (bacon, sausages, scrambled eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms and fried bread) to tie me over until Rudolph (my favourite reindeer) and I tuck into our belated Christmas Dinner late on Boxing Day after a good rest. It is not as though Rudolph and I do not appreciate the mince pies and or sherry which good children always leave out for us, as a token of their appreciation for their presents, before going to bed on Christmas Eve but there is only so many mince pies and so much sherry one can consume within twenty-four hours without suffering from indigestion and looking rather obese! To cut a long story short, Anthony, Mr Swathim's son (a good-looking fifteen year-old kid which any gay man would give his right arm for), had got up early on Christmas Day and eaten the mince pie and drunk the glass of sherry Sonia (his six year-old sister) had kindly left for me and Rudolph before we had had a chance to arrive; cheeky sod! I was just about to leave Anthony and Sonia's presents by the beautifully-decorated Christmas tree in the Swathim's living room, when Rudolph poked his red nose down the chimney – no doubt to see if his antlers would reach as far as Young Anthony's beautiful bubble-butt – and spotted the empty sherry glass and crumbs on a plate.

'Look Santa' Rudolph whispered to me, 'someone has been drinking our sherry and eating our mince pies'! I was as shocked as Rudolph to see someone had indeed consumed our belated elevenses; one would expect some greedy bastard of a father or stepfather to consume our mince pies and sherry on a council estate, but not in a pleasant cul-de-sac of owner-occupied homes; the lower-classes, after all, are renowned for their eating and drinking in excess (frequently from their welfare benefits which are funded from the taxes of the middle and upper classes)!!!

As a general observation one finds that whilst the lower-classes are often inclined to scream at their children and slap them across the back of their heads when they misbehave in supermarkets – not that I'm opposed to verbally admonishing unruly (and often illegitimate) brats – middle-class parents usually take time to explain to their children what they have done is wrong and why, before administering an appropriate (i.e., bare bottom) spanking in the privacy of their own home; and whilst the lower-classes seem to perpetually breed disorder by allowing their sons to wear long trousers before their time and sending them to co-educational day schools, the middle-classes appear to show a better understanding of keeping their boys in shorts until much later in life and sending them to single-sex boarding schools … although even there, I'm sorry to say, the rot is beginning to set in.

I'm not against public spankings one hastens to add, but generally speaking one finds that the middle-class approach to be more effective in disciplining the ungodly and unwashed, although I certainly believe that boys should be kept in the shortest of shorts seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year, indoors and outdoors, until they leave home and start buying property of their own. That said, with the break-up of the traditional family unit in many countries, it would appear more and more folk are having sexual relationships with folk of a class or race inferior to their own, with ever more countries I visit slipping ever deeper and deeper into decadence. It is hardly surprising then that one finds the end result of, say, a middle-class man having sex with a lower-class woman (or vice-versa) is that even some of England's finest independent boys' schools are now admitting girls into the Sixth Form and installing condom machines in the boys toilets. All rather disgusting and unnecessary if you ask me; it just encourages boys to have sex with girls with (or in a growing number of cases without using) a condom, causing all manner of unwanted sexually–transmitted diseases and unwanted pregnancies, which never existed when boys had sex with each other and without the need for some bloody condom to prevent a boy experiencing the warmth of another boy's spunk as it swam up his back passage; what is the world coming to?! I'm surprised Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells hasn't written to the Daily Telegraph or the Daily Mail about it, unless he has already and I've forgotten about it amongst the huge volume of letters I receive!!! It's just as well I don't have a mobile ‘phone or what they call a 'laptop' as I would be inundated with such misnomers as 'text messages' and 'e-mails' from ungodly and unwashed kids, although I always thought ‘e' was a male anyway and she was female just as surely as most messages are written in some illegible text anyway, and a 'laptop' was some rather cute-looking pubescent boy one strategically placed stark bollock naked over one's knee!!! Anyway, and quite frankly my dear, the thought of boys polluting themselves by having sex with girls is as nauseating as allowing boys to wear long trousers before they have graduated from university with at least three postgraduate diplomas to their credit!

I digress! After looking at the empty sherry glass and crumbs on the plate at the Swathim family home I jokingly called out to Mr Swathim in the tone of Father Bear returning home after Goldilocks had been helping herself in the kitchen, 'who has been eating our mince pie and drinking our sherry'?

'Not me' said Mr Swathim as he busily prepared breakfast in the kitchen, 'I only drink whisky and soda, or brandy and lemonade, and I prefer Christmas cake to mince pies'.

'Not me' added Mrs Swathim, as she busily laid the dining room table, 'I only drink gin and tonic, and as I'm coeliac I am not allowed to eat mince pies unless they are gluten-free and I don't believe they are; in any case, I haven't eaten your's'.

'I'm sorry Father Christmas, it was me' Anthony said, coming downstairs blurry-eyed after hearing all the commotion beneath his bedroom, 'I got up around five, feeling rather ravenous, and saw you were running late Father Christmas so I thought you wouldn't want it on top of your breakfast Dad said he was going to cook us in the morning so I ate it! Waste not, want not, as Grandad used to