Christmas by the seaside

It’s September and so the most obvious thing to turn our thoughts to is Christmas. Well, isn’t it? No, of course not. But if we were retailers or working on Christmas related campaigns we’d already be obsessing about the intricacies of trees and decorations and the number of cards to stock. Thank god we’re not.

So why have I got Christmas on the brain? Is it the yearly e-mail which pings around the office telling you the opening days over the festive season, combined with a light but very heartfelt threat that some people must be around to man the phones, prompting the crazy rush to print and complete holiday forms? No. Is it the text message from my dad telling me that the Christmas Derbyshire cottage has been booked ‘If we happen to be around?’ (which would of course mean spending half our festive season sitting in a car on the motorway when we could be in Spain). No.

The reason I’m thinking about Christmas today is because I was reminiscing with my housemate about her time spent in Brighton organising a (not to be named but I’m sure you can guess) local Brighton paper’s Christmas grotto in Churchill Square shopping centre.

The process went something like this:

September- Begin recruitment of elves (x 18 approximately) and Father Christmases (x8) – Elves should ideally be attractive, young and fit into the pre-ordered elves outfits (although must be careful not to breach any discrimination laws- too ugly? Get out of town. Too fat? Lose some weight lard arse) Santa’s should ideally have white beards, be plump and jolly and have a nice demeanour with children.

The reality of the staffing situation was slightly different however with the following recruitees:

Megalomaniac Santa

A Santa for 5 years or so years on the trot who believed it was his god given right to be Churchill Square Grotto’s one and only Santa and have a say in all matters ‘grotto’. Such was his commitment to the Santa-ing cause that he begun uninterrupted facial hair growth in February in order to have a genuine, fluffy unruly beard. I’m not entirely sure, but I imagine he was quite an angry character.

Sullied Santa

Who had a rather unfortunate aroma of stale wee and was a suspected alcoholic. This led to complaints due to him upsetting the more delicate children (whilst making the edgier kids feel right at home.)

Pervert Santa

Who had a tendency of propositioning the elves in a highly inappropriate manner, including asking them whether they would like to find sex toys in their Christmas stockings.

All in all, my friend had created a fun, happy, safe place for children where they could live out a special cherished moment in the bosom of the grotto. It was very unfortunate therefore that one such little angel found himself a little bored in the long queue to meet one of the depraved Santa’s and to bide the time decided to pick at a live wire running along the ground. It was even more unfortunate when the little darling electrocuted himself and my friend had to close down the grotto, complete with 2 hour back to back queues and hundreds of angry parents and snotty kids who were due to meet Santa, because of ‘health and safety’ reasons.

I could never begin to tell you the amount of joy Christmas in Brighton bought to me, you just can’t beat a daily influx of emails entitled ‘Trouble with the elves’ or ‘Complaint about incontinent Santa’….ahhh, those were the days.

London Grottos are no doubt a much slicker affair- you don’t find depraved Santa’s in Harrods window display, slumped against the window, taking a slash against a pine tree or handing out dildos. Mr Al Fayed would not stand for it.