I've been gathering gifties like a squirrel gathers acorns. Now they're piled up in the hall. (Well, "pile" might be a bit exaggerated, but it's a well-shaped little mound.) Now I need to make the wrapping paper (well, you see, I chew up cellulose-producing fibre and . . . nononono . . . makes me sound like a North American aquatic mammal who builds dams or a stingy type wasp).

In between all this activity, I will try to find a suitable shipping container so that the package can slide down the chimney, I mean, land in your postal recepticle before the bikinis are on the shop display manniquins. (In other words, well in time for the mid-winter holiday season.) I'd hate to make you wait until Robert Burns' Birthday or any other holiday after the end of December.

Your Red-Suited One Who Redistributes the Wealth
No, no, not Karl Marx, the other one!