If Santa Claus was originally Turkish, that means the Grinch is Greek, and Whoville must be their neutral ground ... Whoville is Bulgaria Confirmed! 🇬🇷🇹🇷🇧🇬🎅🎅
#DrSeuss #Christmas #Santa #FatherChristmas #Grinch #noticing #greece #turkey #bulgaria
#father-christmas — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #father-christmas, aggregated by home.social.
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EXCLUSIVE Santa Column: The Quest to Fit a New Doorbell 🔔
Last time out, Santa fitted new front doors to the factory. This time out, a new doorbell was in order. Father Christmas categorises this as his “quest” to find the ideal doorbell and his obsession with his quest turns out to be ever so slightly deranged. Indeed.
Santa Seeks a New Doorball
Santa is a on a quest to find the ideal doorball. With the new factory gates fitted out back, rather than at the front (because of a technicality), Santa needs something to indicate to the factory that there is a bastard at the door who needs either slaying hideously, shooing away, or stealing their property. It needs to be a really, really, really, really, really good one. Like, when some communist or workshy freeloader presses the button it needs to COMMAND RESPECT and sound out as it is Satan braying from the heavens that someone is at the door and Markus, my head elf, needs to answer the, aforementioned, door and get the goods and/or slay the communist.
Thus, Santa got on the case to get the doorball. Santa looked up a company on The World Wide Internets and rang the doorball company over the phone, the company is located in Bolton of Greater Manchester. This is the conversation Santa endured.
“HELLO! Is this the doorball company?!” I bellowed down the phone.
“Wot?!”
“THE DOORBALL COMPANY?!” Santa roared.
After a long silence the response came, “We sell doorbells, mate.”
“THAT IS WHAT SANTA SAID! GIVE ME THE DOORBALL!” I roared once more.
“Mate, cram a sock in it with t’ shoutin’, what do you want?!?”
“A doorball for my Santa factory! I need one so when some communist or workshy freeloader presses the button it COMMANDS RESPECT and sounds out hard and long as if it is Satan braying from the heavens that someone is at the door and Markus, my head elf, needs to answer the, aforementioned, door and get the goods and/or slay the communist.”
The guy hung up on Santa after that statement and, outraged, I immediately went and put him on my official naughty list. A vast list condemning bastard SOBs to a Christmas 2026 with no presents. Serves them right! This was my note:
NAUGHTY LIST ENTRY 451,342,123: Doorball customer service guy. USELESS CUSTOMER SERVICE did not help Santa, did not get doorball, made Santa angry. NO PRESENTS.
That’s him condemned to a rubbish Christmas 2026 and he only has himself to blame.
The Quest for a Ringing Implement
Dissatisfied and dangerous following the customer service incident, Santa began drinking sherry. Santa had a good long think about stuff that makes ringing noises. This is the list I came up with, with some help from a stoned Rudolph and the odd manic bray from Kenneth the gaffer walrus:
- Bells
- Electronics
- Cymbals, gongs, triangles
- GOOOoRRUUGHHhhhhhhhh
- Santa requested further feedback on what Kenneth meant by that bray, will report back when he makes more sense later
- Struck anvils, crystal glassware
- Harps
- Doorballs
Santa got Markus, my head elf, on the case regarding the “GOOOoRRUUGHHhhhhhhhh” statement by Kenneth as I reckon he’s onto something there. Walruses know how to make a lot of noise, so perhaps it is in that slobbering oaf of a monster Santa can find a solution to this front door situation.
“Sir, Kenneth doesn’t know what anything like that is, he makes those noises because he’s a walrus and that’s what they do on an animalistic front.” Said Markus.
“NONSENSE, Markus. Do you want demoting!? Do you want Kenneth to take your place!?” I threatened the little bastard.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind it for a…”
“NONESENSE! You’re just jealous because Kenneth had a better idea than you. Study it! Study that statement! By the end of the day, I want a 10,000 word report on what GOOOoRRUUGHHhhhhhhhh is and how it can be used as a doorball implement. GET TO IT NOW, YOU SOB!” Santa then pelted the empty sherry bottle at the nearest wall and it shattered into a billion pieces.
Markus’ Findings Regarding “GOOOoRRUUGHHhhhhhhhh”
At the end of the day, Markus returned with a 9,145 word report on the statement. Santa immediately gave Markus, my head elf, a pay cut for not hitting the mandatory 10,000 words. The report itself was confusing because it had some big words in it Santa didn’t really understand, plus some statistics Santa didn’t really understand. So, Santa booted up my AI wife B2C AI Wife Production Centre Service Solution Platform Generator Ltd. and ran the report through her and had she condensed into the language of a 5 year old so I could understand it.
“Darling! Markus, your head elf, has come to the conclusion (“the end”, a kind of decision) that the statement (“GOOOoRRUUGHHhhhhhhhh”) by Kenneth the gaffer walrus was the sound a walrus makes in an attempt to attract a mate, as it is mating season. I hope that makes sense, sweetums. 😘”
BREAKTHROUGH! Santa duly had Kenneth the walrus replicate that GOOOoRRUUGHHhhhhhhhh noise, which I had Markus, my head elf, record on a recording device. The noise was the installed into a doorball, which Santa purchased from the shop in Bolton of Greater Manchester, which was flown in via helictoper, crash landed, exploded, and luckily the doorball survived. Double thumbs up! The sound effect was installed and we got on with our lives.
Walrus-Based Anarchy
After 24 hours of the new doorball being put to use (75 times from various product deliveries and 35 times for various Bolsheviks and communists whom were promptly tasered), something unexpected happened. Markus, my head elf, ran another report the next day, but it turns out the “GOOOoRRUUGHHhhhhhhhh” mating signal call that played out very loudly from the front door acted as a mating signal call across the North Pole.
Santa got up one morning hungover to all hell to find 1,500 walruses outside the factory gates engaged in what can ONLY be classed as an orgy! The indecency made Santa vomit (or maybe that was the hangover).
With walruses more or less as far as the eye could see, Santa hit the bottle with a vengeance. Then I called an emergency meeting in my Santa office.
“Markus! Where the hell is Kenneth!? Why isn’t he at this meeting!?”
“He’s engaged in the activities outside, sir.”
“Oh, the depravity!” I bellowed.
“Indeed, sir.” Markus squeaked.
There was only one thing for it. Santa had Markus dig out the old water cannons from the basement of factory unit 6. We got the elves to head out back and blast the walruses with those, disseminating them in a chaotic and enraged frenzy. In the stampede that followed, the walruses pulverised through various factory walls, clobbered off factory implements, and triggered multiple fires (the new front doors and doorball also went up in a ball of flames). The elves used the water cannons to douse the flames, but this is a significant setback for Christmas 2026! Markus has calculated we have 2% of our production targets met.
Worse was to follow.
Kenneth has hit it off with a walrus broad and insisted through manic braying Santa hire her into the workforce. He wants to marry her and they want many walrus babies. Santa tried to say no, but Kenneth pulverised me into the floor and broke one of my Santa legs… this hassle wasn’t worth it, so I later got her to slobber over a contract of employment and deemed that as a valid signature.
She’s called Linda. She’ll introduce herself in next week’s column. God help us.
#Business #Capitalism #Christmas #CreativeWriting #darkComedy #FatherChristmas #Funny #Humor #Lifestyle #Santa #Satire #satirical #Silly -
BBC's Christmas announcement with Amandaland to return
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Too soon? I'm just thinking parking can be a bugger in the holidays, it might be worth getting sorted early.
https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/4416882541/funny-christmas-sleigh-parking-sign
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1 in 5 Brits would rather let AI pick their Christmas present than their partner
https://fed.brid.gy/r/https://www.mirror.co.uk/lifestyle/1-5-would-ai-choose-37668569
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Bella Freud launches new affordable beauty range with prices from just £12
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Gemma Atkinson says ‘channel the anger at Gorka not me’ after backlash
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EXCLUSIVE Santa Column: The 300-Strong Elf Security Service 🚨
After the Santa advent calendar scam of July 2026, this week he’s dealing with Santa Watch. This is a small army of 300 elves put together by Markus (his head elf) to keep Santa from doing anything explosive or stupid.
Well, as you’ll read this has had mixed results. The good news is at least he’s hit the ground running this year, which is important as after no presents in 2025 we’re really super eager to get at least a sack of charcoal.
Santa and the 300 Security Elves
Elves have been everywhere around Santa for the last 10 days. 300 of them. Like in that 2007 film 300 with Gerard Butler. Except the 300 elves were small, squeaky voiced, and very bloody persistent! Markus, my head elf, assigned them to Santa Watch the previous week to keep my behaviour “on the right path” for Christmas 2026 so the bastards of the world can get their pathetic presents. BUT WHAT DOES THIS MEAN FOR SANTA?! Santa can’t even go to the LAVATORY without 300 elves cramming into the bathroom to keep a close eye on me.
I can sneeze without their beady eyes watching me.
And Santa has a cold, so I’ve been sneezing a lot! The elves nearest to me are all covered in snot and mucus and have also come down with colds. Serves them right! But the little bastards have stopped me from drinking and won’t let me go near my bazooka or shotgun.
The result? Factory productivity is up 1,000% on this time last year (2025). Santa even… did some paperwork. The last time I did that was in 1936, when I was so drunk on sherry I did it for a laugh with Rudolph. This time? Deadly serious, filling out taxes, signing some documents, being a the best version of myself.
No way was I let that going to stand! No bastarding way! So, on Monday I started fouling myself, eating off food, stopped washing my hands, and frequently went into the old factory unit 1 (cordoned off in 2015 following the minor nuclear mishap) to wander around without wearing a hazmat suit. My dastardly plan began to work as early as midday on Monday! The elves began to get ill with:
- Colds
- Radiation sickness
- Influenza
- Cholera
- Rabies (not even sure where that one came from tbh)
As the numbers dwindled and Nurse Doreen’s medical ward became packed out with elves, Santa was freer every day to do something new and idiotic. By Tuesday evening I was able to finally hit the drinks cabinet and start necking gin, whiskey, and whatever else I could lay my hands on. Markus (my head elf) got wind of this and attempted to have me restrained, BUT IT WAS TOO LATE.
By Wednesday morning I was up on the factory roof drunk as a skunk, firing my bazooka and shotgun wildly into the air while belching and laughing. You can’t keep a good Santa down.
500 Strong Elf Santa Watch
Markus (my head elf) responded by increasing the Santa Watch from Wednesday night. 500 of the little buggers! 500! There isn’t even a film starring Gerard Butler about that. Maybe they could make one about heroic Santa? Maybe…
But I was stuck with it. The 500 elves nailed the drinks cabinet shut and wrestled Santa to the ground, tying me in place like I was some jolly Christmas version of Gulliver’s Travels. There I lay, bellowing away in outrage, for the next 12 hours while Santa sobered up. To get my revenge, Santa repeatedly fouled myself and sneezed everywhere to make life living hell for the elves on Santa Watch. MY EMPLOYEES. TYING ME UP… what level of communism is this?!
Thursday morning they untied me and, hungover to all hell, Santa staggered off to the canteen to get a Pot Noodle. Nurse Doreen eyed me dismissively when I approached and told me her medical ward was packed out with 150 elves at present and was close to crisis point. I told her to “shut her yap”, flipped her the bird, and staggered off with my raw Pot Noodle.
Santa sat alone (as alone as ONE could be when surrounded by 500 elves) in the corner of the canteen and munched through the raw Pot Noodle noodles. They hurt my teeth and gums. Ow.
The radiation also made all the skin peel off Santa’s forearms, meaning a trip to the medical unit with the terrifying Nurse Doreen. The only employee Santa is too scared to sack!
Nurse Doreen hooked me up to a drip and slathered my forearms with Sudocrem. This made Santa bellow in agony, so Nurse Doreen made me drink half a litre of gin and then I felt quite a lot better. So much better, in fact, Santa stormed out of the medical unit and rampaged down to the canteen. There I commanded the chef (Nurse Doreen) to blast some disco beats so Santa could strut my funky stuff! She responded by playing Beach Boys and Santa hates surf music with such a violent passion I tried tearing the speakers off the walls with my bare hands.
1,000 Strong Elf Santa Watch
Markus (my head elf) got wind of my antics and stuck another 500 elves on me, bringing the total elves on Santa Watch to 1,000. This was quite the sight because they swarmed around me like a wave of elves (walves) wherever I went, chattering with each other in those stupid high-pitched voices and creating quite the din. This reached a crisis point at midday today when I moved from the bathroom back towards the canteen.
The walves surge picked up a pace and Santa was carried at speed, surfing on my elf employees as Santa blasted along until smashing violently through through a wall and splatting atop of Markus (my head elf) who was busy crunching some numbers and working his ass off.
Markus (my head elf) isn’t dead, but he’s heavily concussed. The walves then surged is back down to the medical ward with Markus’ corpse and I asked Nurse Doreen if a concussion meant he was really dead.
“No, he’s concussed.”
“So can I legally classify him as deceased, woman?”
“No.”
“And why not?!?”
“Because he is not deceased.”
“ARE YOU SURE!?!” I bellowed, mightily.
“Yes.”
But with Markus out of action for a few days to come, this meant Santa was 100% back in control. I commanded the 1,000 elves take the night off and go dancing in the old factory unit 1, which is where they all headed where squeaking at each other in those stupid high-pitched voices.
Free at last, Santa went straight to the medical ward (again) and hooked myself up to a gin drip. While also slugging from a sherry bottle. Then I had kebab. Then Santa blew my nose on my big Santa beard and hobbled on gout-ridden ankles down to wake up Rudolph.
#Business #Capitalism #Christmas #FatherChristmas #Humor #Lifestyle #Santa #Satire #satirical #Security #Silly #XMas -
Man legally named 'Santa Claus' arrested in undercover sweep of child predators
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Exclusive Santa Column: SANTA WOKEN FROM HIBERNATION ERROR! 🚨🚨🚨
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…
#Business #Capitalism #Christmas #FatherChristmas #Humor #Humour #Santa #Satire #satirical #Silly -
https://www.europesays.com/2655706/ Pope Leo’s first Christmas: Thousands flock to St. Peter’s Basilica as Pontiff leads mass #CatholicChurch #FatherChristmas #Pope #PopeLeo #PopeLeoXIV #StatoDellaCittàDelVaticano #StatusCivitatisVaticanae #Vatican #VaticanCity #VaticanCityState #Vaticano
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https://www.europesays.com/2655706/ Pope Leo’s first Christmas: Thousands flock to St. Peter’s Basilica as Pontiff leads mass #CatholicChurch #FatherChristmas #Pope #PopeLeo #PopeLeoXIV #StatoDellaCittàDelVaticano #StatusCivitatisVaticanae #Vatican #VaticanCity #VaticanCityState #Vaticano
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Subtle dementia symptom might display itself while making Christmas dinner
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Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer - Father Christmas - #SoundCloud #Music #Christmas #MerryChristmas #FatherChristmas
https://soundcloud.com/father-christmas-official/rudolph-the-red-nosed-reindeer -
Everyone with an Echo speaker should try these 12 Alexa tricks today
https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.mirror.co.uk/tech/amazon-echo-alexa-ask-christmas-36451510
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Santa told to slim down sleigh in festive efficiency crackdown
Jamie Burns, from sustainability firm Ailsa, has swapped boardrooms for the North Pole this Christmas, crunching the numbers on Santa’s epic journey. And the results are enough to make even Rudolph break into a sweat.
Reindeer fuel bill revealed
According to Burns, Santa’s nine trusty reindeer need a staggering 24,000 calories each just to get airborne — six times their normal daily intake. That’s the equivalent of 108kg of grain and 108kg of CO₂ emissions before the sleigh even hits the first rooftop.
Keeping the herd fuelled for the full world tour would mean chomping through 77,400 carrots — racking up nearly 1.1 tonnes of CO₂ in one night.
And don’t even think about plugging in an electric sleigh. Burns says the stop‑start journey to 500 million homes would demand 2,400 GWh of energy — generating 1.14 million tonnes of CO₂e. That’s more than some countries pump out in a week.
Santa needs to consider his reindeer fuel bill according to an energy expertFour ways Santa can save Christmas
Burns has drawn up a cheeky four‑point plan to help Santa cut the fat this festive season:
- Streamline the sleigh weight – lighter packaging, digital gifts and pre‑sorted loads could shave hundreds of kilos off the reindeer’s workload.
- Upgrade aerodynamics – candy‑cane runners and sleigh rails could be slimmed down, with low‑friction coatings to cut drag.
- Plan a smarter route – advanced mapping could stop Santa zig‑zagging across continents and wasting energy.
- AI‑assisted flight optimisation – a digital co‑pilot could tweak speed, altitude and chimney sequences in real time.
How kids can help
And it’s not just Santa who needs to change his ways. Burns says children can play their part too.
“Leave out energy‑dense carrot bundles clearly labelled for the reindeer,” he advised.
#Christmas #energy #energySaving #FatherChristmas #Reindeer #ReindeerFuelBill #Santa“And keep Santa’s mince pie and milk within arm’s reach of the fireplace. Every second saved inside each house adds up when you’re visiting hundreds of millions of homes.”
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People discuss how Santa is able to deliver all the present in a single night, but they don't so much consider how he can fit all the presents of a single sleigh.
And if he doesn't have a shrink ray, that would mean there is a size limit for all the gifts and you will know when a gift isn't from Santa because it is over Santa's size limit.
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NORAD Santa Tracker 2025 LIVE: Follow Father Christmas as he flies around world
https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/norad-santa-tracker-2025-live-36447366
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Choose 20 comics that have stayed with you or influenced you.
One comic per day for 20 days, in no particular order.
No explanations, no reviews, just covers.Day 20:
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The big man loves cargo bikes (he's clearly had to be restrained with some ratched straps because he's so excited to see us).
Go by bike – it’s what Santa would want. #biketooter #cargobike #santa #fatherchristmas #cycling #christmas
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Cost of feeding Santa soars nearly 40% in a decade
Milk, mince pies and carrots don’t come cheap
Experts at Ailsa have crunched the numbers, revealing that the price of leaving out a pint of milk, a mince pie and a carrot has jumped by almost 40% since 2015.
Supermarket data shows the average pint of milk now costs 85p, a pack of mince pies £1.25, and a 500g bag of carrots 49p — adding up to £2.59 for Santa’s snack station this Christmas Eve.
Back in 2015, the same treats would have set families back just £1.86.
A tradition with history
The ritual of leaving food out for Santa dates back to the 1930s. In 1935, families spent barely 0.05p on the festive offering.
Since then, the cost has rocketed by more than 5,000% over nine decades, with the sharpest rise coming between 1975 and 1985 when prices leapt by 151%.
“The magic matters”
Kane Taylor, Ailsa researcher, said:
“Yes, the cost of keeping Santa fed has shot up but that just proves how determined we are to keep the Christmas dream alive. Even when the world feels a bit heavy, we still leave out the milk, mince pie and carrot with a smile, because the magic matters.”
He added:
“For kids, it’s a moment of pure wonder. For the rest of us, it’s a chance to reconnect with the part of ourselves that still believes in something sparkly. If paying a few extra pennies means keeping that glow going, then we’ll happily keep topping up Santa’s snack station.”
Rising costs, rising cheer
While mince pies may be pricier, experts say the tradition is priceless. Families across Wales are expected to keep the ritual alive this Christmas Eve, proving that festive spirit can’t be measured in pounds and pence.
Cost of feeding Santa
Year Amount (£) 1935 0.05 1945 0.07 1955 0.11 1965 0.15 1975 0.33 1985 0.83 1995 1.25 2005 1.45 2015 1.86 2025 2.59Related stories from Swansea Bay News
Christmas Parade named UK’s best council event
Swansea’s festive parade has been crowned the UK’s top council‑organised outdoor event at the NOEA Awards.Festive bin collection changes across South West Wales
Councils confirm revised Christmas and New Year waste dates for Swansea, Carmarthenshire, Neath Port Talbot and Pembrokeshire.Christmas news and features
#Chriatmas #costOfLiving #FatherChristmas #foodDrink #foodForSanta #milkPrice #MincePies #Santa
Explore Swansea Bay News’ full festive coverage — from local markets and charity drives to seasonal community stories. -
Vintage Postcard Fantasy Father Christmas Headstock Horse
https://www.cpaphil.com/en/products/vintage-postcard-fantasy-father-christmas-headstock-horse
#VintagePostcard #FantasyPostcard #FatherChristmas #SantaClaus #VintageChristmas #ChristmasFantasy #HolidayIllustration #HorseAndSanta #IllustratedPostcard #VintageIllustration #SeasonalPostcard
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Vintage Postcard Fantasy Father Christmas Headstock Horse www.cpaphil.com/en/p... #VintagePostcard #FantasyPostcard #FatherChristmas #SantaClaus #VintageChristmas #ChristmasFantasy #HolidayIllustration #HorseAndSanta #IllustratedPostcard #VintageIllustration #SeasonalPostcard
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TikTok star, 31, found dead at home after haunting final video
https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.mirror.co.uk/3am/celebrity-news/tiktok-star-31-found-dead-36412174
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Naughty or nice? Which list will you be on this Christmas?
Do You Believe In Father Christmas?
#flashfiction #Christmas #ghoststories #ChristmasFiction #Paranormal #ShortStory #FatherChristmas #SantaClaus
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Do You Believe In Father Christmas?
When I was eight years old, I did the most despicable thing.
On Christmas Eve 1970, I told my five-year-old sister that there was no such thing as Father Christmas. She was horrified.
Telling her that Father Christmas did not exist was the worst thing I ever did.
My mother was so angry with me. She sent me to my room.
I missed supper. I missed the carol-singers outside our house.
I missed seeing the first snowflakes of what was to be my first white Christmas. And I missed the evening of Christmas Eve, my favourite time of the year.
However, worse was to come.
I cried myself to sleep, blaming Father Christmas for what had happened.
Sometime during the night, I was woken by hands around my throat.
“You evil boy!” boomed the voice. I was too frightened to open my eyes.
“Open your eyes, boy! Do it, or you will never see Christmas again.”
He forced me to open my eyes. I don’t know how he did it, but he somehow did.
I couldn’t believe what I saw.
I was shocked beyond belief. It was Father Christmas who had his hands around my throat.
“You never, never tell anyone ever again that I do not exist. Do you understand me, boy?” I tried nodding my head, despite being in complete shock.
“Good. Now, look deep into my eyes.”
Seconds later, I saw a flock of robins in his eyes and, before I knew it, they were propelled into my eyes.
The screeching sound they made hurt my ears. I could not scream for help to my mother or father because of the tightly gripped hands around my throat. I finally managed to close my eyes, and the screeching robins and hands around my throat disappeared.
Terrified by what had happened, I crawled under my bed. I curled up into a tiny ball and shivered the night away. Sleep did come, but only briefly.
It was the sound of laughter that woke me.
I could hear the muffled voices of my family. It was Christmas morning, and they were already downstairs.
How could they have forgotten to wake me up?
I crawled out from under my bed and made my way past the open door of my bedroom. On the floor, at the top of the stairs, were two empty Christmas stockings. How could they have emptied their stockings without me?
I ran down the stairs and into the lounge, which was lit up with Christmas lights.
“Mum, Dad, Julie…I’m sorry,” I cried, but none of them took any notice of me. “Please forgive me, don’t spoil Christmas.” But it was no good, they just ignored me.
That’s when I saw the strange boy.
“Oh, that’s lovely, Hugh. Grandma sure knows how to knit Christmas jumpers,” laughed Dad, as he hugged the strange boy.
For the rest of the day, I watched as the boy with my name took my place. Nobody bothered me. Nobody even noticed I was there. It was as if I were a ghost.
I finally went to bed and cried myself to sleep. The whole family had arrived at our house and a Christmas party was in full swing.
The next morning, my mother woke me up.
“Are you feeling better, Hugh?”
“Are you talking to me?” I asked her.
“Of course, I am. Who else goes by your name in this house? Come on, it’s Boxing Day, and we need to get over to Grandma’s house.”
I didn’t ever say anything to anybody about what had happened, and I didn’t see the strange-looking boy with my name again.
Well, I didn’t see him until the following Christmas Day when the whole thing happened again. And it’s happened every Christmas since then.
You see, my place is now taken by a ghost, but only on that one day of the year when I become a ghost.
I’m so happy and thankful that it’s not Christmas every day.
Do you believe in Father Christmas?
This short story was originally published on my blog in December 2019.
Image created by Hugh W. Roberts using Canva.
Click the buttons below to follow Hugh on Social Media
Copyright © 2019 hughsviewsandnews.com – All rights reserved.
#christmas #christmasFiction #fatherChristmas #fiction #ghostStories #ghostStory #ghosts #paranormal #santaClaus #shortStories #shortStory
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Santa Claus Is Coming To Town - Father Christmas - #SoundCloud #Music #FatherChristmas #Christmas #MerryChristmas
https://soundcloud.com/father-christmas-official/santa-claus-is-coming-to-towb -
You know, I do love Raymond Briggs' #FatherChristmas
They show it every year. I love it for the mundanity of him going on holiday and eating food at restaurants.
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"Come on, Krampus. Work awaits. There are gifts to distribute and children to make happy." - "And bad people to punish, growl." - "Indeed. So let's get going. It will be a long night." #HolidaySeason #ToyPhotography #FourHorsemenStudios #Krampus #FatherChristmas
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Here Comes Santa Claus - Father Christmas - #SoundCloud #Music #FatherChristmas #Christmas #MerryChristmas
https://soundcloud.com/father-christmas-official/here-comes-santa-claus -
It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas - Father Christmas - #SoundCloud #Music #FatherChristmas #SaintNick #Xmas #MerryChristmas
https://soundcloud.com/father-christmas-official/its-beginning-to-look-a-lot-like-christmas -
BBC:llä piiiiiitkä juttu Lapin helleaallosta.
No #coolcations in Finland atm. Because of the climate change and the heat.
https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/cn0ql98x1nvo#Finland #Suomi #helle #kuumuus #helleaalto #HeatWave #heat #Lappi #Lappland #Rovaniemi #joulupukki #SantaClaus #FatherChristmas #ilmastokriisi #ilmastonmuutos #ilmasto #ClimateCrisis #ClimateChange #climate #napapiiri #ArcticCircle #Arctic
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Father Christmas's wonderfully shaky handwriting deserves a Font! Don't you agree? 🤔😅😎
There is so much to do!
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Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer - Father Christmas - #SoundCloud #Christmas #MerryChristmas #FatherChristmas #Music
https://soundcloud.com/father-christmas-official/rudolph-the-red-nosed-reindeer -
Do You Believe In Father Christmas?
When I was eight years old, I did the most despicable thing.
On Christmas Eve 1970, I told my five-year-old sister that there was no such thing as Father Christmas. She was horrified.
Telling her that Father Christmas did not exist was the worst thing I ever did.
My mother was so angry with me. She sent me to my room.
I missed supper. I missed the carol-singers outside our house.
I missed seeing the first snowflakes of what was to be my first white Christmas. And I missed the evening of Christmas Eve, my favourite time of the year.
However, worse was to come.
I cried myself to sleep, blaming Father Christmas for what had happened.
Sometime during the night, I was woken by hands around my throat.
“You evil boy!” boomed the voice. I was too frightened to open my eyes.
“Open your eyes, boy! Do it, or you will never see Christmas again.”
He forced me to open my eyes. I don’t know how he did it, but he somehow did.
I couldn’t believe what I saw.
I was shocked beyond belief. It was Father Christmas who had his hands around my throat.
“You never, never tell anyone ever again that I do not exist. Do you understand me, boy?” I tried nodding my head, despite being in complete shock.
“Good. Now, look deep into my eyes.”
Seconds later, I saw a flock of robins in his eyes and, before I knew it, they were propelled into my eyes.
The screeching sound they made hurt my ears. I could not scream for help to my mother or father because of the tightly gripped hands around my throat. I finally managed to close my eyes, and the screeching robins and hands around my throat disappeared.
Terrified by what had happened, I crawled under my bed. I curled up into a tiny ball and shivered the night away. Sleep did come, but only briefly.
It was the sound of laughter that woke me.
I could hear the muffled voices of my family. It was Christmas morning, and they were already downstairs.
How could they have forgotten to wake me up?
I crawled out from under my bed and made my way past the open door of my bedroom. On the floor, at the top of the stairs, were two empty Christmas stockings. How could they have emptied their stockings without me?
I ran down the stairs and into the lounge, which was lit up with Christmas lights.
“Mum, Dad, Julie…I’m sorry,” I cried, but none of them took any notice of me. “Please forgive me, don’t spoil Christmas.” But it was no good, they just ignored me.
That’s when I saw the strange boy.
“Oh, that’s lovely, Hugh. Grandma sure knows how to knit Christmas jumpers,” laughed Dad, as he hugged the strange boy.
For the rest of the day, I watched as the boy with my name took my place. Nobody bothered me. Nobody even noticed I was there. It was as if I were a ghost.
I finally went to bed and cried myself to sleep. The whole family had arrived at our house and a Christmas party was in full swing.
The next morning, my mother woke me up.
“Are you feeling better, Hugh?”
“Are you talking to me?” I asked her.
“Of course, I am. Who else goes by your name in this house? Come on, it’s Boxing Day, and we need to get over to Grandma’s house.”
I didn’t ever say anything to anybody about what had happened, and I didn’t see the strange-looking boy with my name again.
Well, I didn’t see him until the following Christmas Day when the whole thing happened again. And it’s happened every Christmas since then.
You see, my place is now taken by a ghost, but only on that one day of the year when I become a ghost.
I’m so happy and thankful that it’s not Christmas every day.
Do you believe in Father Christmas?
This short story was originally published on my blog in December 2019.
Image created by Hugh W. Roberts using Canva.
Click the buttons below to follow Hugh on Social Media
Copyright © 2019 hughsviewsandnews.com – All rights reserved.
#christmas #christmasFiction #fatherChristmas #fiction #ghostStories #ghostStory #ghosts #paranormal #santaClaus #shortStories #shortStory
