Following a horrific error at the Santa Claus factory, Father Christmas has been woken EARLY ahead of Christmas 2026. For it is definitely not December 2026! It’s April. Santa is not best pleased with this development…

WHAT THE BLOODY HELL!?

THE ALARMS STARTED WAILING AT 4AM. WAILING. THEY WERE VERY BLOODY LOUD. SANTA WAS ROUSED FROM A MOST DELIGHTFUL HIBERNATION SLUMBER, DROOLING OVER MYSELF, AND MY BELLOWING OF RAGE BEGAN:

“MARKUSS!!!! [Editor: Markus is Santa Claus’ Head Elf] WHAT THE BLOODY HELLLL!?!?!”

The wailing wailed, Santa bellowed, and to top it off Santa had the most bastard SOB hangover imaginable.

It Is Not Christmas

With the entire factory, elf staff, rats, and Kenneth the Gaffer Walrus woken up, Santa gathered my managers into the office quarters. I slugged from a bottle of tequila and spooned Marmite from a jar into my Santa face.

“Markus…” I wheezed, “It is not Christmas…”

“No, sir…” Markus squeaked.

“WHY IS IT NOT CHRISTMAS, MARKUS!?!?” I roared.

“Erm… er… because it is May, sir?”

“THAT IS CORRECT, YOU LITTLE BASTARD!!!! WHY IS IT MAY?!?”

Markus stood there looking baffled, his stupid elf hair all tussled, and he was not wearing his mandatory elf hat!

“ANSWER ME MARKUS! And get your ELF HAT on, you’re violating the Santa Factory dress code, you insubordinate swine!”

Markus ran off to get his elf hat and returned wheezing heavily.

“ANSWER ME!”

“Sir… *wheeze, wheeze*…”

Well, Santa bellowed for some time after that and went very red in the face. By 10am I was too drunk to do anything about it, so slept it off till 3pm and drank a pink of energy drinks, then a pint of coffee, and then started hitting the Lambrini bottle stash.

That was to deal with the ordeal that had come about because of Santa’s investment into the Sleigh-Dar 5000 AI technology, automated software triggered by technical error as a false-positive Christmas siren.

Santa invested $135 million in that! And it’d gone off in May…

That is not the Return on Investment (ROI) Santa had expected. To deal with the disappointment, I quit the Lambrini and went straight for the gin.

Santa Leaks the 2026 Naughty List

In a drunken frenzy, I went and accidentally leaked the 2026 Naughty List (as of Q2) to a decentralised blockchain, then all across the official Father Christmas social media accounts. The posts were laden with extreme obscenities and typos (I was drunk, it happens).

This triggered off a chain reaction of online and international press mayhem, with the tabloid The Daily Disaster ringing me for an exclusive interview. This I did, apparently, as I read the interview the next day. Santa just can’t remember saying any of that crap, so I may sue them for slander and defamation for the hell of it.

The bigger problem was some of the names on the Naughty List. They included:

• Bread Pitt
• Bread Pitt
• Bread Pitt
• Bread Pitt
  • I’d added Bread Pitt multiple times for some reason
• Kylie Minogue
• 1996 Formula 1 World Champion Damon Hill
• The entire cast of Cheers
• Sandra Hüller
• Sandra Bullock
• Anyone else called Sandra

The list triggered international outrage from people called Sandra. I don’t give a damn what their issue is! The list is superb. Genuinely superb. Not a thing wrong with it, apart from the misspelling of Bread Pitt’s name… the spelling issue was probably down to the drunken frenzy.

But, notice, Bread Pitt didn’t complain about it! Nary a whiff of an issue from him as he is A REAL MAN and in CONTROL OF HIS EMOTIONS. Unlike women! Silly things. Oh, and on an unrelated note, Santa destroyed the desk in my office in a foul-tempered rage. I got Markus (my head elf) to order me a new one.

The New Santa Desk (and the cryogenic solution)

Yeah. with all the chaos about the 2026 Naughty List I clocked out once the desk turned up.

The new desk was flown in first class, premium delivery, via helicopter. In customer Santa Factory tradition, the helicopter crashed landed just outside the front gates in a hellish fireball of mayhem. Unlike most occasions, there was a survivor! Lucky SOB!

He staggered in pleading for medical assistance. Unfortunately, Nurse Doreen was awake as well and made him a Pot Noodle and glass of hot cocoa. That really didn’t do much for the survivor’s many open wounds and obvious third-degree burns, so I gave him a shot of brandy, patted him on the back for job well done, and shoved him back out into the snow blizzard wilderness raging outside the factory. He’ll be fine!

With the new desk installed, Santa turned my attention back to what needed resolving. That being… how do we all bloody well get back to sleep!? It isn’t Christmas!

We had a meeting in my office and I DECIDED that cryogenics was the ONLY answer.

“Er… I don’t think that’s wise, sir.” Markus squeaked.

I have him my haughtiest glare. A glare so goddamn haughty it’d scare the bejeezus out of anyone. Markus shut up and I got Nurse Doreen set on the task of setting up the ice cryogenic units to freeze us deep solid until later in the year. Belching exuberantly, I did also worry if the stupid things were in any way dangerous. What if my big Father Christmas beard got messed up!? I asked Nurse Doreen, framing in a way to look like I wasn’t scared.

“Nurse Doreen, will we all die horrible if we use these cryogenics? I’m shitting myself about this, but don’t tell the others!”

She just gazed into the middle-distance, then at me with this glazed over expression akin to a 1000 yard stare, then back into the middle-distance. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead she munched on a powered chunk of Turkish Delight. But then she eyeballed me again.

“Mr. Father Christmas… I do not know. I am not a cryogenics expert.”

“BUT YOU ARE A NURSE, ARE NOT YOU!?” I bellowed.

“Mr. Father Christmas, I am hired as a chef, not a nurse.”

Santa had Markus get her contract of employment and we checked it right there and then in the office while Nurse Doreen waited. DAMN AND BLAST! She was right. I’d been calling her Nurse Doreen all these years! She’s listed as a chef… technically I should be paying her double.

I dropped the matter and we got on with it, prepping the cryogenic units.

Santa must stop here. I’m very drunk. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to make any sense. REST ASSURED! Christmas 2026 will be on target and only if you’re Bread Pitt will you not receive any presents. Bread Pitt and all the Sandras of this world, that is…