Ho Ho Ho. I’m one of the elite helpers that Santa uses when he can’t make appearances himself.
A few years back I was contacted by a group called Douglas Road Stunners Who Want Their Santas to Have a Private School Education.
They had seen my website, A Better Class of Santa, where I cater for top table parents who would rather their kids didn’t meet someone from the northside.
My USP, if you like, is that I’m from Ballintemple and I went to Christians, so I’ve a lovely cut-glass accent and you won’t
me throwing a wobbler if a six-year-old asks me for a skiing holiday in Andorra. (They’re mad for that.)
So for the past couple of years, I’ve been doing private Santa in huge houses on the Douglas Road, because the Stunners would start crying if they had to queue in some shopping centre behind some feral sprogs belonging to a lorry driver. (I can’t say I’d blame them.)
The problem I have is that these Douglas Road children possess the manners of a ferret and hold no respect for their elders.
When I gave this little girl a pair of Hunter Wellies last year – at the insistence of her mother – she gave my beard a tug and said, “My father earns north of 500 grand a year, so do what you’re told.”
Well, I didn’t spend four grand on an online degree for Upper Crust Santas just to listen to that. Should I have a word with the mothers this year?
C’mere, what’s the story with being a lad who’s better than his old doll at buying Christmas presents?
I’ve been going out with the old doll for ages now like and I swear to God, gloves for five years in a row, she must think I’m an octopus!
In that time I have bought her a necklace, a weekend in Paris and 14 pairs of lacy knickers.
Now, I don’t want to be the price of everything, value of nothing lad, but she got the gloves in Guineys, grand gloves in fairness but I doubt she came within 10% of the
1,027 I spent on her in that period, I keep a record of it in a spreadsheet.
I’ve broached the subject with her in a jokey way – “Oh look, another pair of gloves, you’re useless, I’m going to sleep with your sister” – but she just isn’t getting the message.
Like, she actually posted a photo on Instagram of her buying this year’s gloves in Guineys, with the caption “Love a lad with warm hands”.
see if you like a lad who gives you an IOU for an afternoon in Cobh, if that’s the level of presents you think is acceptable.
I was thinking I’d tell her Mam that I’m disgruntled, that should get the message through in three seconds, that one is like the Human Sieve with information. Do you think that’s a good idea?
Hello, it’s Rosealeen here in Ballydesmond. We’re coming around the bend and heading for home in our preparations for the Christmas panto here in north Cork.
It’s Beauty and the Beast this year and didn’t Berna get cast as Beauty because she’s carrying on with the artistic director, AKA Declan above in the Co-op.
I’m the pantomime dame once again – it has to be a woman because the priest had a con
iption a few years back when he heard there was a man in a dress up in front of the whole parish.
(And him up in a dress every Sunday at Mass. I’m using
as a way to explain the concept of irony to the crowd back in Scartaglin.)
Anyway, where was I, oh yeah,
I’ve started having it off with the lad playing the Beast, but he’s finding it tough
because I remind him of his mother when I’m in character.
I haven’t the heart to tell him that I’m not acting. How can I fix this?
My husband thinks the kids should only have 15 minutes of screen time every day, while I think they should have four hours because who in their right mind would want to talk to their kids? Do you know how to organise a DIY divorce because I can’t live with this eejit for another week?