Santa's Christmas Confessions: What They Don't Tell You About the Big Night

Right, gather round. It's me, Santa. Father Christmas. The Big Man. Kris Kringle (still not keen on that one, if I'm honest). I've been doing this job for quite some time now, and I reckon it's about time I set the record straight about a few things. The marketing department has been painting a rather... optimistic picture of my operation. So here's the truth, straight from the workshop.

The Reindeer Are Absolute Divas

Let's start with the reindeer. Rudolph's ego has grown so large, it's practically luminous on its own. Ever since that song came out, he's been impossible. Demands his own changing room. Insists on organic carrots. The other reindeer? Dancer and Prancer spend more time arguing about who's the better dancer than practicing. Blitzen has a terrible attitude, and Vixen's constantly on her mobile. I'm running a global logistics operation, not a reality show.

Mrs. Claus's Cookie Quality Control

Now, about those cookies you leave out. Mrs. Claus has implemented what she calls a "rigorous quality assessment protocol." This is a fancy way of saying she eats most of them before I even get to them. By the time I arrive at your house, I'm lucky if there's a crumb left. She rates them, you see. Gives scores. Takes notes. Last year, she actually wrote a 500-word review of someone's shortbread. Five hundred words! About biscuits! Though, to be fair, they were exceptional biscuits from Fabcakes.

Chimneys: My Nemesis

The chimney situation is getting ridiculous. Half of you don't even have chimneys anymore! Do you know how hard it is to materialize through a central heating vent? I've taken up yoga specifically for this reason. Downward dog is now part of my pre-flight routine. The elves think it's hilarious. I think I pulled something last Tuesday.

The Great Mince Pie Debate

Here's a controversial opinion: mince pies are superior to cookies. There, I said it. I know my American colleagues prefer cookies, but there's something about a proper British mince pie that just hits differently at 3 AM when you're halfway through your deliveries. The combination of sweet mincemeat, that crumbly pastry, maybe a bit of brandy butter if you're feeling fancy. Perfection. Though I must say, Fabcakes' Christmas cake selection might have converted me to team cake this year.

The Milk Question

Finally, can we talk about milk? Some of you have started leaving out oat milk. Almond milk. Even something called "mylk" spelled with a Y. I'm a traditional man. I like cow's milk. Full fat, none of this semi-skimmed nonsense. Though I appreciate the gesture, really. At least you're thinking about my lactose tolerance. Very considerate.

Right, that's quite enough confessing for one day. The elves are giving me pointed looks, and Mrs. Claus is tapping her watch. Apparently, I've got seven billion Nice Lists to review, and Christmas doesn't run itself.

Stay lovely. Be kind. And for heaven's sake, leave out a decent biscuit.

Cheerio! Santa