Yesterday evening was my children's school's Christmas fund raising fair. For my sins I am one of the chief organisers. We always invite Santa to fly in from
Last year we did the same and had everything under control. Hook-a-stocking was looking festive; the mulled wine was fuming nicely; the chocolate tombola ready to roll. Father Christmas had arrived with 15 minutes to spare before the doors were due to open. Erm....as you would imagine Santa often needs a change of clothes before he starts a new present-giving shift. And so I just popped into the caretaker's office to retrieve the Santa costume, the safest place to stash a very valuable prop or so I thought.
Twas not there. I searched. It still wasn't there. Another frantic look. No definitely not bloody there. I popped my head round the door to see a queue of 100 people with accompanying little people waiting to come in.
Envisioned headlines: 'Children left crying in the playground as Father Christmas fails to show.' 'New PTA Chair lets down hundreds of children'. 'Santa gets lost on way to School Fair'. I could see the playground awash with parental resentful eyes burning into me on Monday morning drop-off.
For 10 long long minutes that red and white costume with black boots and a snow-white beard went awol. 10 long long minutes when I thought I might have to emigrate. 10 long minutes when the excitement of lots of children held in the balance. And then it was found.
It had been put in the bins by someone - after all it was just a cardboard box with SANTA's OUTFIT written all over it. I usually forgive and I usually forget but sometimes it's just too heinous a crime to forgive and forget.
This year I took no chances. Costume retrieved from PTA store 2 weeks ago; placed under lock and key at my house; transferred covertly to school yesterday afternoon; secured within grotto until Santa
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