‘We arrived at the winter wonderland in good time — it wasn’t that cold to be honest but there were machines which produced fake snow — they must think us toddlers are stupid. We know.

The winter wonderland is a vast area overlooking numerous lakes; it was made out in a Christmas Lapland theme to brainwash us toddlers in to thinking this was where Father Christmas lived.

We were given our tickets to board the Polar Express, which was a tractor, yes a f*****g tractor, to see some elves. These creatures apparently help Santa with the prep work before the big gig. These creatures have vast amounts of energy — one wonders whether they are on drugs or redbull or something. I was forced to colour-in a tree decoration. I am 17-months- old, I am not capable of this yet. Mummy did the colouring-in for me.

Back on to the tractor to see Mother Christmas. This strange human lives in a separate building to Father Christmas. I am presuming their marriage is on the rocks and they now live separate lives. I could tell from her overly joyous positivity about everything that this was all a cover-up to Father Christmas probably having an affair. The on board tractor conductor made out that Mother Christmas was asleep, so we had to sing a song to wake her up. She wasn’t asleep. She was getting s**t-faced on Mulled wine.

On we walked to the grand finale — the grotto where this famous character lives. I remember thinking, “Why is he here? Why is he not in Lapland working double shifts ensuring he has his logistics sorted for the big day? Instead, he is on a farm in Barns Green, near Horsham, West Sussex”. Strange. It also got me thinking about the hundreds of millions of children in this world who see Father Christmas prior to the big day, and yet I could only see around 20 on this farm. There simply are not enough hours in the day for this Father Christmas to talk to every one of them throughout December. Simple mathematics. I had also read rumours on Twitter that these types of Father Christmases’ are ‘helpers’ to the real one. Bit of a con really if I am perfectly honest. You wouldn’t buy a ticket to Peppa Pig World and get told, ‘Sorry, Peppa is busy, but here’s Postman Pat’.

As we all walked in I caught a glimpse of him in the distance. Huge looking fella. As we got closer I became distraught. Completely distraught. Absolutely terrified. I thought I was going to die. He was as big as one of the cows out the back; he had a huge, white, furry tree hanging from his head; he was wearing a hideous red onesie, and looked obese. I was scared. I thought he was going to take me away from my mummy and daddy. I cried and subtly prompted mummy to give me a cuddle. She needed to save me.

We all sat down in a chair. I have heard reports that children used to sit on this huge fella’s knee. I can’t believe anyone would want to do this. A safe 3 metre gap between us was scary but manageable. Then he started talking to me. I turned away. He was asking me what my name was. I remember thinking, “My mum had already booked these tickets online so he should already have my name on his system. No attention to detail from this so-called legend”. He then asked me what I would like for Christmas. I was like, “Well, for 1- I can’t talk, 2- I can’t write and 3- you are meant to be magic, so you should know this already, you dick”. Besides, my mummy had completed a list for me a week prior to this, she said she posted it to your home address. So it has either been let down by your inept postal system, you ignored it, or this is all one big worldwide con.

Twat.

I just wanted to get out of there. It was unpleasant. Anyway, I continued to ignore him by looking in the opposite direction. The old fella was persistent though; he carried on waffling. I didn’t give him the time of day. We remained in the grotto for what seemed like a day. He then lent down to this huge red sack beside him. I remember thinking, “Jesus, he has got a gun”. But, to his credit, he offered me a present. I took it off of him which cheered me up a little. After all it was a lovely gesture. He went up in my estimation then. My overall impression? Not bowled over’.

 

(Word from Daddy: Highly recommend the Father Christmas experience in Barns Green, West Sussex — brilliantly thought out and magical).

© Daddy Musings 2015

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A Photo My Mummy Took
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