day one.Life on the streets.

On the first day of Santa…

I arrived at the shop in good time, as usual. The owner was telling me how this year had been one of the worst business years in their history.
Not surprising, since it was hit hard by the bombs in London, and the congestion charges.
I thanked my lucky stars that I was doing it this year.
So, I slipped into my outfit, in private as per usual.
The transition from me, to the Santa is something I can not do in front of people. Then With bell in hand, I strode my way to the door. Suddenly, The owner burst forth.
Leaflets were thrust into my hand.

“Give these out would you”. She said.” Our other shop needs customers so push it hard for us.”

A feeling of panic ran through me, as I realised that I couldn’t wave to passers by, or shake the children’s hands, with a bell in one hand, and some flyers in the other.
“Ah ha!” I thought.” Stuff them into your tunic.” This worked perfectly.

So, on the door step, I stood ringing my bell. Ding Dong, Ding Dong
.” Ear, it comes to something if bleeding Santa won’t let the homeless sleep!” said a gruff voice swathed in musky blankets. It was a young girl.
She shuffled off, looking like something from a Jim Henson movie, or one of the weird sisters from the Scottish play.

The weather was cool, yet not cold, and I soon decided to remove the gloves. This helped with the handling of the slippery paper too. But where to put the gloves?
In the tunic!
A good idea in principle, but as the day went on, they became a conversation piece.
“Hey Santa, Nice boobs!” Said one girl, probably in her late teens. as she squeezed the right glove.

“I will have to come up with something new for next week!” I thought.


And so the day progressed. It was quiet for the first day. The usual ”coming down my chimney?” Innuendo from passing grannies came and went.” Had it swept lately?” was my reply, as always.
The man who I call Mr sideways bum, passed. A jolly chap with a strange shaped stomach. . I swear it looks like his bum is on sideways.
He always greats me by singing part of “Santa clause is coming to town” which is nice.
Around mid day, my feet started to ache. So I leant against a wall, and massaged my foot on a metal ring that’s set into the pavement.( through my Wellington boot I should add!)

There was a tap on my shoulder, and some sliver coins were thrust into my hand. Surprisingly it was a gentleman of the road.
“Change this at the Bureau de change, and get your self a cuppa tea mate.” he said. I realised that in my leaning, and wriggling state, he had assumed I was one of his number.
I was strangely touched, and offended at the same time.

Then, along came Elvis.

Not the King himself, but an obese Asian guy, complete with blue suade shoes, and a quif.

how did i know he was Elvis? He waddled past me mumbling " thagqu very much " under his breath. He was also wearing for all to see, a belt buckle the size of a man hole cover ebossed with the word..." Graceland".
Bit of a give away .