I can explain why I failed to deliver all the presents on my round under my new Santa sub-contract.
First (and I’m not complaining) the elf uniform provided under sub-clause 3 was just a tad too small and I couldn’t get the trousers on, which occasioned some delay. (Well, I suppose most elves are on the svelte side.)
Second (and maybe I was a bit naïve) I’d expected a sleigh with six reindeer, turbo chargers and an aerial sat-nav rather than a clapped out Bedford Dormobile.
Thirdly (and I’ll stop numbering soon to avoid any whiff of pedantry), nobody had bothered to explain how you enter a house with no chimney.
One small problem was that none of the presents were addressed: what’s the point in children writing to Santa if his presents are totally random?
Another problem (and sorry if this sounds like one long whine), no instructions were given on which houses to ignore, even though I know for a fact that some children on my patch are total rascals.
Notwithstanding all these problems, I tried my absolute hardest to live up to the high standards you set and fulfil the contractual requirements; I REALLY DID.
Which was why it was so disappointing to find some children not tucked up safely in bed but downstairs, in front of the telly, getting plastered with their parents.
Which brings me to the real explanation – 140 glasses of sherry later.
I’m afraid I got rather tired and emotional even before I was breathalized. . .