Father Christmas reached out for another Mince Pie, then sat back in his big, comfy armchair and rested his feet on the footstool.

"Well, Mrs Christmas," quoth he "the sleigh is all loaded now. The elves have worked their little hides off this year, to get everything done in time. They're a good bunch really". He took a small sip of sherry and thoughtfully muched the mince pie.

"You know, there's only one thing wrong with being this really cool Anthropomorphic Personification - the uniform is really fetching, the red wellies are something else, and you can have a good winter holiday straight after Christmas without anyone complaining. But why do I have to drink so much of this wretched sherry? I'd far rather have a good whisky!"

Mrs Christmas sighed deeply. "I know Father" she said. It's the same every year - you come home p****d as a fart, and reeking of the stuff. And you don't even like it!"

"Aye" he sighed. "But I can't have the Brassneck to leave it - all the little boys and girls - and not so little either - would be so disappointed if I left it. And all the Dads would think me really punkoid if I started nicking their best malts every year. Can't be 'elped, I suppose".

"Maybe someone might leave you something a little different this year - a nice bottle of that Nouveau stuff that you could bring home for our Christmas Dinner!

"Maybe" replied Santa. "Still - I'd best get on. I've a long journey tonight, delivering that one to Animaterra - I hope Rudolf has filed the flight plan this year, and knows where to go..."

So saying, Father Christmas stood up, put on his bright red coat, combed his beard, and headed for the sleigh to start another night of deliveries...