The real Santa

“Santa came to my school, to music class,” announced LB proudly last night.

“No, he did not,” retorted BB, more knowledgable about such matters. “That wasn’t the real Santa. That was just a man dressed up as Santa.”

Christmas Eve: (having already had a visit from Santa on the 23rd) "Will he come twice, Mummy?"
Christmas Eve: (having already had a visit from Santa on the 23rd) “Will he come twice, Mummy?”
I listened in to hear where this conversation was going, especially as pulling off Santa this year involved a little more trickery than usual.

The ‘how he gets in’ questions – our villas obviously have air-conditioning ducts rather than chimneys – had all been fielded successfully, I thought (he slides down the mobile phone mast just outside our compound and makes his way through secret, underground tunnels to each villa).

We’d also carefully got round the fact that Santa visited our house on the night of the 23rd, so we could have Christmas with DH before he left on a ‘sleigh ride’ to Tokyo.

But there was a chance BB was getting suspicious.

“Don’t you know?” he continued, causing me to nearly choke on my tea, thinking he might actually be about to tell LB the truth (maybe the secret tunnels were a bit far-fetched).

“The real Santa,” he said, summoning up every ounce of his three years’ seniority over his brother, “lives on YouTube.”

Phew – thank you www.portablenorthpole.com for keeping the magic alive.