"All right then," says Santa. "It's just gone midnight in the UK, and it's early Christmas Day in some parts of Europe. Time for me to get off of my dead ass and go to work." So, pulling on his long red coat and (somewhat the worst for wear) black boots, he clomps out through the tavern door. A rather discordant jingling is heard from outside, like out-of-tune bells on nine sets of reindeer harness. Sled runners are heard - briefly - gliding across the snow-packed parking lot. A deep voice saying "Ho, ho, ho buuurp" fades off into the distance.