Seasonal job vacancy available at short notice.

I'm not sure where the photo came from, but isn't it brilliant!
If it's yours, please let me know.

Whilst on a training flight early this morning, tragedy struck the much loved (by children and junk toy makers) figure, known in many parts of the world as Father Christmas or Santa Claus. It is understood that Father Christmas had been whooping it up with his reindeer.

The reindeer, led by the exuberant Dasher, were enjoying stretching their legs after twelve months of idleness and were excited about the biggest event on their admittedly, mostly empty calendar. It's rumoured that the effects of climate change and a warming earth had disoriented the team as they usually navigate by observing glaciers which have been melting at an unprecedented rate.

 “Forgetting about intercontinental air space regulations and not beng up to date with the effects of climate change are a bit of a hazard when you take to the skies so rarely” confessed a visibly devastated spokesperson for Father Christmas.

Lawyers are vying to represent the interests of Father Christmas, and figures in the mega millions are rumoured to be offered to the winning firm. A well known company from Australia are said to be in the running! However, given that Father Christmas gifts everything he makes, this figure is possibly somewhat inflated, as he leaves no obvious estate other than some very shaken reindeer a battered sleigh, and the unheated, uninsulated sheds the elves work in.

An international incident is looming with the pilot of the aircraft claiming complete innocence, "I was not flying negligently" he insisted at a press conference earlier today "the mad fool came out of nowhere and didn't even show up on the radar. Then WHAP, I couldn't see a thing for presents, sleigh and reindeer".

In scale the incident will probably top Russia’s rage at America trying to bring the internet to its knees with the proposed SOPA bill, and be even larger than China’s chagrin at America setting up a military base in Darwin, Australia. Aussie annoyance at the government allowing, nay encouraging, a northern US base pales into insignificance compared to the untimely demise of Father Christmas by an aircraft of ***** nationality. Those pesky Americans seem determined to flex their international muscle and will probably try to gain notoriety by sending their most aggressive lawyers to work on this most sensitive, discreet case. Admittedly, it would be a coup for any firm to represent such an interesting figure.

Human Resources representatives for Father Christmas are scurrying to find a suitable replacement. Advertisements for this part time, voluntary position, have been placed on line and they’re scouring the earth to find someone of suitable shape as well as an astounding level of athleticism, generosity and genuine cheerfulness. Candidates are unlikely to have their references or Working with Children checks vetted thoroughly given the short time frame and urgent need to fill the vacancy. All applicants are – unfortunately - welcome. A note just to hand advises that the successful applicant need not be fat, Anglo-saxon or male.  The situation is obviously extremely dire and tension is mounting by the hour.

Historically, Father Christmas wore a green suit, but it’s understood that when Coke Cola (oh dear, Americans again) commandeered the image, this was changed to the current vibrant red. The incumbent will naturally be provided with a tailor made suit as the current one is in poor shape, not to mention its rather torn and blood-spattered appearance.

.

Christmas is coming

Tourists pause, aimless and free, fondle market wares, hold them aloft, twist and turn, alert for the perfect Christmas gift.

Street market stalls laden with goods

Heels clack clack clack
on the footpath behind me
Loud. Insistent. Demanding.

I turn, maintain momentum, keep pace:
“You seem to be in a hurry. Must be a local!”  
A laugh and wide grin, “How did you guess?”

I gesture to the tourist busses, densely packed groups, alfresco diners and coffee sippers, deeply relaxed and at ease.

Muslim women, tightly scarfed, giggle together;

Cheery red poinsettias.

Elderly Italian and Greek women with sensible shoes and bags, closely inspect the local farm fruit and vegetables;

Asian groups of mixed ages and genders, umbrellas angled against the sun, wide brimmed hats pulled low over black hair and tied with bows under chins, ponder whether to try the local Japanese restaurant for lunch – their body language is clear.

No, they’re not local, but they are welcome …
or are they?

I was once lost for words when a friend said “I didn’t know we got that type of person down here” when she saw a group of traditionally dressed Moslem women.

 As I watch cars inching down the crowded street, sporting jaunty antlers and red noses under the searing sun, I wonder sadly if that sentiment remains.

Isn’t there enough room for us all?

The Town Crier decked with tinsel making a Christmas announcement.

I cringe at the addition of a Santa hat

Christmas questions

Are you galloping towards a frenetic bout of over-consumption this Christmas season?

Are your purchases something you've thoughtfully and consciously chosen or are you buying as a habit or  in response to the powerful advertising machine and their clever manipulation?

Is the "stuff" you're being encouraged to purchase worthy of your hard earned wage?

Drabble Dare #11. Image #1: "Pole Star".

Here's my contribution in response to Drabble Dare #11: "December" Theme hosted by Burrowers Books & Bladerdash.  Photo #1: "Pole Star".  I'm honoured that it was considered good enough to be included in their Advent Calendar for Dec 24th. The competition results are available here.

The complete 2010 Advent Calendar is at The Burrow.

(If you're after some Christmas cheer, put off reading this 'till another time.)

****

The world is dying, slowly, painfully,

Greed, corruption, power, but they won't take action - desperately needed.

I rage against our passing.

It is so final, irreversible.

We go, taking others with us.

They say cockroaches will remain, and ants,
but not much more.

The depth of our stupidity is numbing.

Step by step,
individual insignificant decisions,
seemed minor in the scheme of things; but not so. Each weighing more heavily on
our exquisite abused planet.

Our time is running out.

Can we take action?  Can we change?

Mostly I despair

It is.  It will be.  The stars our only witness.


***

A Drabble is a story told in 100 words. No more. No less.


***

A Christmas treat.

I'm taking five to rest my aching feet. It's noisy with the grinding of the beans and the hiss of the coffee machines. But the aroma! Rich and heady in the thickness of the sticky humidity.


There's music in the background, I think, barely audible above the discordant clatter of cutlery and happy chatter. This is the best part of Christmas shopping, taking time out to check and update the list - twice if you must know!

I'll call it a successful three hours and retire from the frazzled hoards and tedious queues.
                                                        

Two lovingly chosen gifts are ready to wrap.

A Drabble is a story told in 100 words. No more, no less.

***