Father Christmas. Photo / Richard Robinson
Monday
Ho. More and more reports come in from New Zealand that little Johnny hasn't been a good boy this year.
"What's the latest," I sighed.
"Well," they said, "there's been this business with the flag."
They explained that he spent everyone else's pocket money to conduct a survey to see whether his school should change its flag.
"Why?"
"He wanted something that people would remember him for."
"Is he leaving school?"
"Many hope and pray."
They said he was determined that the school should adopt a flag with a silver fern on it, and he especially liked a design drawn by a boy called Lockwood.
"Can I have a look?"
"Here it is."
"Why are you showing me a picture of a Weet-Bix packet?"
"No, it's a picture of the Lockwood flag."
"Oh dear," I said.
"He's very, very naughty," they said. "No presents for him. Agreed?"
"Oh, I don't know," I said. "That seems a bit harsh. He's not a bad lad at heart."
Tuesday
"This just in on little Johnny," they said, and played a tape of him singing on the radio.
"Well," I said, "it's horrible, out of tune, and kind of weird, but it's not bad behaviour, is it? It's just being silly."
They narrowed their eyes.
Wednesday
They stomped in on their little feet, and said, "Perhaps you might want to listen to what little Johnny has done now."
They played a tape of him making a joke on the radio.
I laughed, "Ho."
"It's inappropriate," they chanted, "and it's made the news on CNN and in the Guardian."
"Does that make it worse?"
"Well, yes," they said.
"I think maybe you elves should lighten up. You're so judgmental. You're kind of bitter and twisted. What do you do with all your time, anyway?"
"We take to social media."
Smoke came out of their ears. I don't know how it is that I ended up giving the Christmas contract to the Twitterati.
Thursday
It's been a bad year for really, really bad behaviour. You can't go past the tiny lunatics of Islam, Isis State, for acts of harm done to others. What scumbags. Mind you, they're probably not expecting presents or anything at all from a symbol of Western commerce.
Then there's little Donald. Demented little Donald, with his hair, his face, his - do you call it a brain? What can you call it? Is there a term for the body part that comes out with the kinds of things he regularly spouts?
Oh, that's right, there is. It's called an arse.
In comparison, little Johnny's far from bad. Most of the time he's just horsing around, and not taking things too seriously.
But there he was this week, responding to a new report which claims one in three children are living in hardship, by saying that a lot of it came down to drug abuse.
I looked into other remarks, and examined some of his policies in his time as head boy.
What a gross little twerp he is sometimes.
Friday
There they were, the elverati, watching me as I bagged the presents.
"Nothing for little Johnny," they demanded.
"Too harsh," I said, and put a parcel in the sack for him.
One of them took it out, and tore off the wrapping. They all leaned in to have a look.
"We don't understand," they said. "Why have you given him the Lockwood flag?"
"I haven't," I said. "It's an empty Weet-Bix packet, with instructions on where to stick it. Ho!"
It's understood a NZDF aircraft and multiple helicopters are involved.