A short message from Father Christmas on how his busiest night of the year went.
I’m Thinking of Retiring
Grumpy? I’ve moved beyond grumpy. I’m operating on a level best described as “festively furious”.
Christmas Day morning. I’m sat here with a mug of tea strong enough to strip paint, staring at a sleigh that looks like it’s been through a minor war, and wondering when exactly this all became my responsibility. Magic, they say. Joy. Wonder. They don’t mention the paperwork, the weather, or the reindeer union.
Let’s start with the night itself. Absolute shambles. Snowstorms where there shouldn’t be snowstorms. Fog where fog has no business being. At one point I flew through something that might have been cloud, might have been someone’s experimental vape. Hard to tell these days. Rudolph’s nose flickered halfway over Kent. Flickered. I do not need mood lighting from the lead reindeer while dodging wind turbines.
Then there were the houses. Chimneys that are purely decorative. Who decided that was sensible? One was so narrow I had to breathe out, think thin thoughts, and apologise to my hips. Another had been sealed up “for energy efficiency”. Marvellous. I ended up crawling through a loft hatch like a confused burglar with a sack full of goodwill.
Children’s lists are getting bolder too. Used to be a toy car and a colouring book. Now it’s drones, phones, gaming consoles with specifications. Specifications! One lad included bullet points. Bullet points. I nearly left him a stapler.
And notes. Oh, the notes. “Please don’t forget us.” As if I’d pop all this effort in and then just skip one semi-detached in Scunthorpe out of spite. And the emotional ones. “Please make Dad happy again.” I’m a gift-giver, not a therapist. I do my best, but there are limits to what a jumper can achieve.
Technology nearly finished me off. Motion sensors everywhere. Alarms screaming. One house welcomed me with a cheerful voice saying, “You are not recognised.” Neither is your house, love, but here we are. Then there was that smart home in Milton Keynes. Everything’s voice-activated, isn’t it? I whisper “hello” to the family dog and suddenly every light in the house blazes on, the heating kicks to thirty degrees, and some robot vacuum starts chasing me round the kitchen like I’ve personally offended it.
And don’t get me started on pets. Cats glaring like I owe them money. Dogs convinced I’m an intruder made of sausages. One parrot shouted, “He’s back!” repeatedly until I considered early retirement.
Still. It’s done now. Sack empty. List complete. The world’s waking up to ripped paper and surprise socks. I’m exhausted, aching, and frankly unimpressed. Next year I’m outsourcing. Or retiring. Or switching to vouchers.
Now if anyone needs me, I’ll be asleep, grumbling softly, until next December. And if I hear one more “Ho ho ho,” I swear I’ll switch to gift cards.
A Message From Me
I hope Christmas Day went well for you. If you didn’t drink too much, eat too much or have lots of fun, then you really weren’t trying! I spent the day keeping well away from my favourite AI rabbit holes.
The AI Grandad 