In search of Santa

There’s such a cairry-oan around the Santa Claus and Christmas business these days and it seems to start earlier every year with fairy lights sparkling in the shops and Slade gie’n it laldy in the sound systems even before they’ve sold out of Hallo’een lanterns.

Anyway, Wee Jaggy was getting a bit sceptical about it all, so he turned to Big Jaggy and asked if they could go and find the real Santa and sort out this mythical fairy story once and for all. So off they set, rally boots on feet, wrapped up in warm rally jackets and woolly bunnets clampit oan the heid to face the cold and wintry weather.

They headed north following the trail of warm steaming pats left behind by the reindeer as they migrated north. With stars twinkling overhead and moonlight glistening on the frost encrusted fir trees they slipped and slithered along the ice encrusted gravel tracks hiking ever northwards through the inhospitable highland terrain and the forests. 

Stopping every now and then for a sustaining slice of Lady B’s porridge (ye cannae sup this wi’ a spoon) washed down with Irn Bru they trekked on, the road winding away ahead and disappearing into the distance.

Silence reigned in the forest, not a sound was heard as the snowy blanket absorbed the cracking of ice underfoot and deadened the sound of the wind whistling through the branches. With the wildlife in hibernation mode, even the sounds of the talon clawed haggis scuttling through the undergrowth searching for whisky groundnuts was but a seasonal memory while the growl of prowling Bears was absent from the silent soundscape. Not even a sleepy snore was carried on the breeze.

The intrepid duo walked on soon to be enthralled and tantalised by the celestial dancing colours of the Northern Lights as their destination drew ever nearer.

Eventually, rounding a corner in this silent, glistening landscape they came upon a low, white-capped log cabin highlighted by a bright lone star hanging high in the heavens like a big Cibie Super Oscar (ask yer faither!) piercing the darkness. A herd of reindeer was gathered in a paddock off to the side where a wee eerie red glow was spotted moving amongst the group. A big red open topped, box sided trailer was parked in a lean-to beside the cabin. It was already fitted with big long ski-runners affixed to the tri-axle Ifor Williams frame and an out of date MSUK/FIA bucket seat with full harness (but still legal for inflight reindeer powered use) bolted up front.

There was no bell on the stout wooden door (and no door-cam) and the actual door knocker looked awfy like the bobble on a toorie bunnet but was made of brass, or was that solid gold? Anyway, the door was answered and as we looked down we could see a tiny wee chap clad in red and green with pointy hat and funny curly slippers asking what the twa weary wanderers wanted. Wee Jaggy piped up: “We want to see the REAL Santa?”

“Oh,” cried the wee, wee chap, “you doubt that there is such a personage do you? Well come away in and see for yourself.”

And that we did, bearing gifts for the great man, a tin of Walkers Shortbread, a multipack of Tunnock’s Caramel Wafers and Teacakes and a bottle of Louise Aitken-Walker’s 33 year old special whisky - not to be touched until after his endeavours on the 24^th!

So you can tell your own weans and grandweans this Christmas there really is a Santa Claus, because the twa Jaggies have been there, seen him for themselves and shook his haun’ in person. Just make sure the lum has been swept or there is a Santa welcome mat at the back door.

Merry Christmas everyone, and wishing you all a Happy, Safe and Successful 2024.