He wasn’t in the usual garb of Father Christmas. Think more blue overalls and a couple of days’ lazy beard. He was also Arabic. Nevertheless, he came on Christmas eve and delivered all the Christmas presents, not to mention my underwear and shaving kit. Earlier, one of his elves had called (from India, apparently), and foretold of his coming, sometime before 11 p.m. All this seemed to me most unorthodox, but who am I to judge of the mysteries of his delivery methods? Rudolf (a white Ford Transit) didn’t seem too interested in my proffered carrot, and Santa himself averred that sherry wasn’t quite appropriate for a man with a lot of Christmas deliveries to make. Such modern responsibility! And he was even so good as to substitute his usual sack for the exact suitcase that Mrs VB and I had lost in transit from Germany. It must be a little miracle in Montreal.
Merry Christmas to all!
Looking at a Mackintosh or Two - The first rubberised coats were marketed in 1824, revolutionising outerwear. Fifteen years later, when John Charles Cordings opened his first store in Th...
15 hours ago