I half expected Johnie to recommend we torture the Santa Clauses if his last piece on the Ammnedment to the Victorian Crimes Act is anything to go on (OLO 17th November) - I think the ladds underwear might be a bit too tight.

Santa and the associated Hoopla is fair game though for criticism - personally I eschew Christams festivities - at least the tiresome prodromal meet and greet crap that leads up the the actual day -

We are as guilty as the next family of the focus on material stuff to a point but as the family has aged and engaged in the post VCE diaspora the afflicts many families in rural areas the focus has changed to one of family community and the Christian roots of the celebration.

A ban will not achieve much - the red bastard will just go under ground - hidden Santas caves will spirng up in all manner of unsavoury places where young mums can spirit their wide eyed kids to see the old fella in secret.

We will grow out of Santa - the signs are already there.

Pt One.
A Christmas play of Shakespearian magnitude (absurd ditty).
Author’s note: Please remember Coleridge’s words. “Suspend your disbelief.” In other words use ya’ f*cking imagination.
Scene 1 Empty stage, adoring audience wait in anticipation of at last seeing the works of the one and only Rancid the Knight of Mad Countenance. He who is renowned across this brown land for his knight errantry in the face of unrelenting evil.

Play starts with lone figure centre stage.
“Tis’ I Rancid the Sad Knight with incontinence.”
A voice from off stage calls. “Pssst. It’s knight of Sad Countenance ya’ f*cking dipsh*t.”)
Rancid continues: Yes. It is I ya’ f*cking dipsh*t.”
Rancid curses and rushes off stage and hits someone.
Rancid: “I am here to show you with the aid of marvellous, indeed, miraculous technology, of the sad arrest of a villainous, scurrilous character Santa Claus.
“Sanchoe Panzy bring henceforth to me my video machine.”
A chubby little fellow (with a black eye) scoots onto the stage on a razor scooter and hands Rancid a camera. Get thee away with ye’ razor named Dupple off this stage ye’ dolt. Rancid chases Sanchoe off stage administering many blows around his head on the way.
Video is plugged in and a giant screen lights up behind Rancid who leaves the stage waving towards the screen saying: “And here is the sad misadventure that befell Don da la Santa when he tried to deliver toys to the fair children of Cronulla.
The audience sees the events as if they are using a hand held video. The video is ground level (dirty streets feel), blue lights flashing in the distance (Sydney feel), we move closer to see two patrol cars and some police officers. The camera swoops to the front of the patrol car and situates itself on the shoulder of Constable Wasted Nights who is facing the foot path talking into his radio. Through his eyes we survey the scene. Santa’s reindeer and his carriage is parked against the curb flanked by police cars. Santa is laying face down and handcuffed

Pt Two. Constable Sicofitall is restraining Santa. The camera leaves Constable Wasted Nights and zooms to the crowd milling around the reindeer. They’re taunting Rudolph. Rudolph is whispering. “Just avert thine eyes and ignore them. They’ll go away.”
Vixen yells f*ck dat let’s get ‘em.” The reindeer buck and jump but Constable Handsoff eventually settles them down.”
Camera is back looking through Constable Wasted’s eyes. He radios in, as the camera pans to Santa’s carriage. “We’ve got a scary one here.” We see Constable Notagain unwrapping presents. “His vehicle is full of replica guns and military equipment.
“And these X box things, which, I’m told, desensitise kids to others feelings whilst teaching them how to kill.”
“We are going to confiscate them and charge Santa under the terrorism laws.” “What’s that Sir? If we confiscate them there will be riot in Cronulla?
“Problem solved Sir. We have arranged to have all the weaponry replaced with skateboards and razor scooters.
“Then they can learn the truth about pain the logical way.”
END.
Screen goes black and Rancid enters the stage, as audience, cheering madly, rises to give our hero a standing ovation.
Rancid responds: “I bid you all farewell and a Merry Christmas. Thank you. Thank you”
Rancid leaves the stage, steps on a discarded skateboard; totally out of control, he rides the thing down a set of stairs; grinds down a railing; ollies off that onto four wheels; shoots across the car park and smashes into the side of Constable Care’s patrol car; flies over the bonnet; smashes into Constable Care who, standing driver’s side front, turns to see what all the noise is only to be smacked head-on by low-flying Rancid. They both crash to the ground. Eyeball to eyeball they lay there. Rancid quietly says: “Merry Christmas Officer Care.” Constable gives off a sigh that can be heard beyond Cronulla’s beaches. “Same to you mate. Now get off me and let’s go.”
And that night through the bars I gazed at the stars (with Santa). He says Merry Christmas (need). Merry Christmas (hacksaw) from Rancitas (now). (Christ)

James and posters

I had a chat with Santa last night. We decided that we are having a shared gift - worth no more than $50.00.

For Christmas lunch we are going fishing on the Maroochy River in our faithful old "tinnie" - armed with a few dozen oysters, half a watermelon and a bottle of champagne. What more d'ya want in life eh?

Our evening meal will be fresh local prawns and local mud crabs - just the two of us.

We are as broke as broke can be in the dollar sense - but not in spirit. I make individualised cards and gifts. I love doing it, and people love receiving them.

Our special gift this year is for a single mother who has four young kids (all have behavioural problems - including Autism and ADHD) - three of whom have been victims of their father's abuse.

We are having the oldest boy (9 years of age) stay with us for a week. We will go fishing, swimming, and crabbing. And we will have heaps of BBQs. What more d'ya really want in life eh? We will have heaps of good hearted fun.

But then, come to think of it. That's how I have always been. Commercialism has never touched me - and I am damned if I'm gonna give up on believing in Santa! I'm still gonna put my old white pillow case out - ya never know, I might get a little surprise!

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL
Cheers
Kay

James McConvill is correct.

Presents are cosmetic. Shallow.

For the best gift, we should look to the story of Saint Nicholas... he gave - as he was a wealthy man - money thrice to a poor man whose daughters needed a dowry, but he couldn't afford it, and it looked like they might end up in prostitution. That's a true gift. Inspired by this, Nuns in Europe would give women's stockings full of wholesome foods - like nuts, dried meats and fruits - to the poor. That tradition still continues in many areas of Europe, such as southern Italy. My grandfather, ever Christmas, tells me about when he would help the nuns deliver the stockings of food - oranges, chestnuts, salamis and fortified wine - to the poor families, even though he was poorer than them.

Gift-giving isn't the problem, it's how we give them, and how they are receiving. Giving should be, of course to our families - who can deny the joy of a child receiving a gift - but that shouldn't go to the current extremes. Giving should be to our neighbours, people in the community, and those with whom we associate but do not know. Finally, and most importantly, giving should be to the needed and unexpecting, for it is there that the story of Saint Nick and Jesus' birth correlate... a gift given undemanded to all, especially the most needy, with no demands of return, to be done with as we wish... whether that gift is a book, a bottle of wine, a card, or the son of God. In giving gifts we become Godlike, but we must ensure that our other hand is firmly behind our backs.