Good ol’ Santa rolls into town
Before finishing up, he ordered that under no circumstance should any hard drink be left out for him this Christmas Eve.
“Leave nothing more than a sup of milk out for me,” says he, before explaining, “I’m in dreadful fear of the old bag.”
And by ‘the old bag,’ I guess he means the breathalyser, and not Mrs Claus.
Anyhow, with the young ones bidding the jolly fellow goodbye, as has become a custom at this stage, I squeezed in alongside Santa to have a few words with him myself.
“So Denny,” says he, as he pulled out his old pipe, “how’s life on the land?”
“Never mind all that,” says I and, inspired by the late great Jackie Healy-Rae, I approached Santa the way Jackie used to approach the Taoiseach, with demands galore.
Says I: “What are you going to do about the potholes?”
“Oh, Lord almighty above,” Santa laughed, “sure potholes aren’t my department at all”.
“Well,” says I, folding my arms, “I’d like to know whose department it is so”.
“Look,” I explained, “you’re idle for the greater part of the year, and that sleigh of yours could easily carry two tons of tar. Would you not arm a few elves with shovels, and patch up the road?”
And Santa, whispering into my ear, said “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks, Santa,” says I.
“Now,” says he, puffing away on his pipe “how’s that bullock with the one testicle? Is he behaving himself?”
“That bullock”, I declared “is the devil entirely. There isn’t a pallet in the parish that can prevent him from mounting every boundary ditch in his path. He’s getting up to all kinds of mischief”.
“Good, good,” laughed Santa. “And you, Denny, how is the old farming going?”
“Santa, ’tis going from bad to worse, beef is a pure disaster.”
“Oh, I know”, says he, “over the past year, I have been doing my level best to sort it out.” “Go on Santa”, I was intrigued now. And then Santa explained how he had been called in to try and broker a deal at those famous round table discussions.
“At one stage,” Santa sad, “I had a beef baron on one side, and a top IFA man on the other, and €5 was on the table. I told those meat men where they could stick their €5.
“I told them it would be €6 or nothing, and then sure, the whole thing fell asunder.”
“Oh, you thundering fool, Santa,” I roared, startling his elf. “Why didn’t you take the €5? That money would have been the makings of us.”
“But”, says he, “like Garth Brooks once said, ‘it’s all or nothing’.
“Oh Santa, would you ever forget about that pup. Santa, you’re nothing but a buffoon.”
I was right cross with him now.
“You better have a mighty big surprise for me under the tree this year,” I warned the thundering blackguard.
With a twinkle in his eye, Santa says “Denny boy, when you see what I will have placed for you under the Christmas tree this year, you won’t be long forgetting about all your troubles.”
“Yerra,” says he, “even though you are a naughty fellow, I feel right sorry for you, and for all the farmers of Ireland.
“This Christmas I’ll look after the farmers, make no mistake,” Santa merrily assured me, as I got up to go.
And on that happy note, I want to wish all a merry Christmas.
