Lawlessly Yours: Gnomes can drink like best of us

Bill Lawless
Bill Lawless

IT’S about time we settled once and for all the facts behind the Christmas fairy. This is a poignant story, and for Santa’s sake don’t let the kids see it. I’d hate to be the cause of sowing the seeds of doubt in their young minds.

Once upon a time at Santa’s Christmas HQ it had just turned midnight and the fairies responsible for Xmas tree deliveries were beginning to relax.

They were dancing around chatting happily, sprinkling stardust and looking forward to a few weeks off before organising their next big job – the Teddy Boys’ Picnic.

Suddenly the red phone rang. Emergency stations! The message was grim – they were 100 trees short of a full delivery.

One hundred were detailed to sort this out and they shimmered round to Central Stores where all the gnomes in charge were in the final stages of fatigue and intoxication.

“Another 100 trees!” shrieked the gnome foreman.

“What the merry hell do you bunch think you’re bleedin’ well playing at?” (Apart from being drunk he was horrible and profane by nature).

The fairies cowered behind the counter at the foreman’s wrath.

With great reluctance and many coarse expressions he organised the last 100 trees and told the fairies to bleep off out of his sight and not to come back until the new frilly knickers arrived for the Midsummer Night’s Dreams sequence.

They departed at full speed and dashed round to deliver the trees. When they staggered back home all had been delivered except one. There had been a cock-up on the requisition forms and only 99 were needed.

The bravest, boldest fairy was persuaded to return it to the stores where she found the gnomes totally out of their minds on 100% moonshine. “Return to stock,” bellowed the gnome foreman,”return to bleedin’ stock!? “We’ve done all the flamin’ paperwork and that’s us done.”

“But what shall we do with it sir?” quavered to bravest boldest fairy.

There was a sudden hush. The foreman’s face twisted with awful relish. And he told her what to do with it in graphic detail and with appropriate gestures amid shrieks of approval from the lower ranks.

And that, dear readers, is why to this very day a fairy straddles the topmost branch of the Christmas tree with a pained expression on her pretty little face.

She doesn’t like it and neither would you.

Meanwhile, here’s wishing you all a happy Crimbo, except of course my illiterate enemy from Preston. May the fleas from a thousand reindeer infest his trousers.