Thursday 20 December 2012

Sepia Saturday 157

 
Whilst, looking for a suitable image for this week's SS, I came across this.  It reminded me of a time when the Grand-daughter stayed with us over the Christmas period.  Now your might have noticed that this is a little boy, but she was very Tom-Boyish, still a plays football for the County.  And, let's face it, this little lad is a bit girly.  He'd have a hell of a time where we come from.
 
 
Before I digress too far let's get back to the. story.
She was only four or five but insisted that we put up a stocking for Santa to fill. We, three grown-ups, tried to convince her that he couldn't get in because we lived in a mobile and didn't have a proper chimney. Her response was that he gets into our flat and we don't even have a fire-place. He Will get in; he's magic and invisible. Out argued by a child, we set about hanging up the stocking, setting a plate with a mince-pie and a glass of whiskey - she must have known the old-boy quite well, because she was certain that he liked mince-pies and whiskey (large) and also putting out a saucer of milk for his reindeer.
 
Eventually we got her to bed and to sleep, we sat back to rest a little.  The Stocking was filled, the other presents set under the Tree. The Scotch was drunk (thanks Santa) a bite was taken from the mince-pie and the saucer of milk was used to make tea. 
 
Sometime later we all went off to bed.  None of us, however, were due to get much sleep, because we were shortly awaken by shouts of joy - He's been, he's been , I nearly saw him, I heard him, heard him,  he left me some presents.  Half asleep, bare-footed, and trying to maintain the illusion, I walked towards the mantelpiece.  As I walked over I swear I felt something with stiff fur brush in to me.  There was a feint odour, just a fading hint, of the cattle byre.  As soon as it was experienced, it disappeared.  I was just about to dismiss it as a mental aberration when I trod in something that oozed between my toes.  It was warm, moist and obviously fresh, but I could not see it.  It was invisible, invisible reindeer poo.
 
It must have been magic because since then I've never suffered from athlete's foot or had cold feet.
 
Seasonal Greetings to all Sepialand
 
 
 
 
 

20 comments:

  1. An invisible Santa visit! Or at least an invisible reindeer visit :)

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  2. Your story made me laugh, Mike! And I am amazed about the similarities between the Santa and the Saint Nick tale with the exception of the whiskey. We don't offer Sinterklaas any hard liquor. But maybe the whiskey is offered only in a mobile...

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  3. I think she chose whiskey for Santa, because we had been talking about it earlier. For me it was a good thing we hadn't been discussing Cod-Liver Oil or, even worse, Orange Juice.

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  4. You have amused us too, Mike. Have a great Christmas.

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  5. The invisible reindeer poo was a surprise!

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  6. We used to leave Santa a Budweiser and a plate of cheese and crackers; our reward was a wonderful letter from Santa, praising our choice of food and drink!

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  7. I'll keep this in mind if I ever suffer from athlete's foot. (ICK)

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    1. Keep your nose to the floor, and look for steam.

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  9. I guess it was just too cold for the reindeer to stay outside. This was the best Christmas story I have ever heard. I firmly believe in home remedies I will remember the remedy for athlete's foot. Don't you think horse doo would work? That is all we have around this neck of the woods.
    QMM

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    1. Only if it's invisible - might upset family and friends if it can be seen.

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  10. OMG what a crazy imagination you have! You must have been something as a child! Happy Holidays Mike!

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    1. Thank you Teresa, you say the nicest things.

      Seasonal greetings to you and yours.

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  11. Seasonal Greetings to you BooBooks, or is it BoobOoks?

    Love Sweet

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  12. The Yuletide always brings out the best stories! I hope Santa leaves you slippers for Christmas.

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  13. Thank you for the wonderful story! I can picture it all.

    Merry Christmas,

    Kathy M.

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  14. You are so funny, Mike. True or not, I can imagine a 4- or 5-year-old girl, convinced that Santa is real and adults getting very little sleep on Christmas eve/morning. No, wait. I don't have to imagine it. I remember it! Happy New Year to you.

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