Twas the night before Christmas

‘You had one job!’ she shouted, her rosy cheeks glowing from the oven’s heat. ‘I wrote the lists, I bought the presents, I even set up the GPS. I’ve packed the bags and loaded up the carriage. I fed the reindeer and sprinkled the sleigh with magic dust. I’ve got dinner in the slow cooker and the veg are all chopped ready for when you get home from work. All you had to do was put on a chuffing red suit (which, by the way, muggins here laundered and pressed for you), and stay sober enough to drive and you couldn’t even do that!’

Santa looked up from his position on the sofa, jowls like jelly, eyes squinting to bring his wife into focus behind lopsided spectacles. He tried to speak but all he could muster was a hiccup.

Mrs Claus untied her apron and threw it over his head. ‘If you want a job doing properly, do it yourself!’

Santa tried to sit upright but the world had gone white.

‘Get that suit off!’ she demanded, unbuckling his belt and pulling at his long johns. ‘I’ll do the rounds myself.’

She dragged him out of his clothes like a sleeping toddler and slid into the seasonal role. Pulling the white-trimmed hat over her head she left him slouched half-naked on the sofa in front of the fire.

‘Just you make sure that dinner is ready when I get back!’ she shouted as she slammed the door, heaving the last of the sacks into the sleigh. It was jammed to the brim.

‘And that’s what they call the mental load,’ she said to Rudolph as she climbed into the driver’s seat. Rudoph neighed and nodded his head in understanding then pounded his hooves into the snow before he galloped off into the sky.

‘Merry Christmas to all,’ shouted Mrs Claus to the world below. She looked back at the doorway to the house where Santa stood, his belly overhanging his festive sprout pants. ‘Except you, you lazy arse!’ she called. She put two fingers up at her husband and flew off into the night.