Following on from the tennis elbow crisis last week, Father Christmas got an unusual present in the mail THIS week. He’s a bit freaked out about it, so let us all rejoice and see how this goes down.

The Crash Landing (and a Bunch of Flowers)

Hello it’s Santa and this morning a bunch of flowers was flown in by private jet. The private jet crash landed into the cesspit outside the factory, blew up, sprayed effluence all over the five factory units, and the charred bouquet landed (by happenstance) near the reception front doors of factory unit 1.

Markus, my head elf, carefully brought the flowers through to me.

Again, they’re heavily charred. They’re covered in shit. They’re LOVELY and I had them nailed to my nearest Santa office wall using a nail gun.

“AREN’T THEY LOVELY, MARKUS!?” I bellowed.

“Yes, sir!” He squeaked.

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE IS LOVELY, MARKUS!?” I roared.

“Cheese on toast, sir?”

I eyeballed Markus furiously. The little bastard will get a pay cut for that! Because the only answer to that second question is, of course, ME. Santa Claus. I am lovely, as I was that fine day with the bunch of flowers, covered in my own vomit as I was following a thunderous drinking session of gin, cheap cider, and my wife’s old perfume.

In a drunken haze, Santa stood admiring the flowers for several hours. Then I collapsed in a heap and passed out.

Markus revived me later, after which I began a bit of soul searching about cheese on toast. Then, and more importantly, I turned my attention… TO WHICH SON OF A BITCH WOULD SEND AN ALPHA MALE LIKE ME SOME BLOODY GODDAMN SISSY NO GOOD FEMINIST FLOWERS!!! As this is a GRAND SCALE insult on Santa’s masculinity! I stood quaking in rage. Then quacking in rage. Then back to quaking. Then quacking.

“Sir… are you quacking like a duck?” Markus asked.

“YES I AM, MARKUS!” I bellowed, before returning to quacking, then quaking.

Truth be told, Santa has no problem with ducks. However, I do have a problem with whomever SENT the FLOWERS to ME and I launched an immediate investigation into the BASTARD who may or may not have done this.

The Immediate Investigation Into the Bastard Who May (or may not) Have Sent Santa a Bunch of Flowers

Santa wasn’t screwing around with this crap. With a $50 million budget, I commanded my elves get to the bottom of this. I also had Kenneth the walrus, our gaffer, go out into the North Pole wilderness on a fact finding mission.

I even got Nurse Doreen (also the factory chef) involved. Her job, as Chief Investigator and Chef (CIAC), was to investigate the matter while cooking full English breakfasts. She got on with this with her usual battle axe and sullen way, smoking cigarettes and refusing to engage Santa with much conversation.

Santa left my team to it and sauntered off to watch Titanic.

Santa returned three hours later, having had a good cry (WHY DOES JACK HAVE TO DIE IT IS SO UNFAIR HE IS SO COOL AND PRETTY!!!), to find my “TEAM” hadn’t made any progress at all.

“WHAT IS THE POINT OF YOU ALL!?” I roared at them, as they investigated and there were several hundred uneaten full English breakfasts laying around the place.

In a huff, Santa started drinking gin straight from the bottle.

Rodent Feeding Frenzy

The next day, the uneaten full English breakfasts had led to a feeding frenzy of rats and a very out of it Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer, whom was slobbering all over the food. This grotesque display made a very hungover Santa immediately hit the whiskey.

FIRST LEAD: Suspect 101 is Revealed

My expert team of investigators came back with a lead on the morning of Thursday 18/09/2025. Markus did a PowerPoint presentation in my office, with Nurse Doreen presiding silently over the meeting with a fag in mouth and frying pan of oil and frying eggs in the other.

“Sir, we’ve honed in on the likely culprit after ceaselessly working for 48 hours without sleep, several elves also died due to cardiac arrest after eating full Engl…”

“CUT TO THE CHASE, MARKUS!”

“… we believe you drunkenly sent the bouquet of flowers to yourself, by private jet, as a nice gesture.”

Santa went red in the face. I began BELLOWING gibberish over and over and hurled several plates of uneaten full English breakfasts across the room, at Markus, and at the flowers nailed into the wall. All while bellowing “WHERE IS YOUR GODDAMNED PROOF!?” over and over.

The “proof” was me having drunkenly confessed about this last night, alongside the receipt of this order in my email address, and the delivery company rang today demanding to know where their private jet is.

Santa told them to piss off.

Well, it has come to this. Santa sending myself bouquets of flowers… irony being:

1. I hate flowers
2. Flowers hate me
3. Flour would’ve been a better choice

Lesson learned, I had Kenneth the walrus bulldoze down the wall with the flowers nailed to them (using a literal bulldozer, rather than Kenneth smashing into the wall… which would’ve been easier, to be honest).

The bouquet? Destroyed. The wall? Destroyed? The structural integrity of the surrounding area of the Santa factory? Highly questionable, but acceptable due to Santa’s lax approach to health & safety at work.