Santa was laid up on his Chester field sofa in his westcoat his white beard in a bow. Don Ning his hat he settled down to read his favourite comic, Andy Capp and to listen to Mott the hooppell. He peeled an orange and read about Philip Green, a blackguard feeling the squeeze who was accused out of the blue of lining his pockets to buy a yacht, not a Finn, essential for a millionaire to sail into Southport. He had cornered the market but had baulked at laundering money. His attention flagging he rushed to the end of the article and browned off he said “that takes the biscuit” so he filed his nails instead. Rolling up the paper he stood up and feeling in the pink decided to have a ball, “mine’s a double vodka in straight glass followed by a triple brandy”, he said. Wired up by the booze and browned off he dragged on his coat and went into the level yard. Burying his feelings and stroking his craggy chin he thought “when push comes to shove, a good primary and secondary education helps you to know when to stop before you get shot”. Still fed up he got on to his sleigh and headed north west where he had more land to see a friend and score some drugs to split with him. He went slowly so as not to draw attention to himself, lose his way or miss his turn. Caught up in the moment he had no time to lose before the police banned it and he pegged out!