"Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas Boys and Girls"

In both concept and actuality Christmas seems to have greater reality in the snow covered wastes of the northern hemisphere rather than in the summer temperatures of the Sydney Inner Suburbs. If the Christmas concept is a bit surreal, the concept of Santa Claus is doubly so. The unreality of the situation hit me as I struggled to keep a cushion strapped to my front whilst adjusting my long and very tatty white beard – all part of my borrowed Father Christmas outfit.

It was Christmas Street Party time and I, without any consultation whatsoever, had been volunteered to be Santa for the Collins St / Murdoch St Christmas Party. The red suit had been delivered to Johann’s house along with a big sack of Christmas presents and I was instructed to sidle away from the party at the appropriate time, get into costume then make a dramatic entrance – easier said than done. Kids are a suspicious lot and several had already sussed that the suave, sophisticated stranger was likely to be playing the part of Santa and, despite my denials, refused to accept otherwise. When the time came for my surreptitious sidle to get into costume several of the more streetwise kids followed and, within minutes, as I struggled to get into my red outfit, the chants started outside the house “Santa! Santa! SANTA!!” Stretch, all six foot seven of him, was sent out to disperse the crowd.

With Sandra’s help I became Santa and for once I was grateful than the temperatures were in the mid-twenties rather than the mid-thirties as the woolly red suit and a big white beard would have given me a dose of heat rash if it had been hotter.

Now for the dramatic entrance.

Loading the sack of presents onto the roof rack of the Nissan Patrol, I clambered onto the rear shelf and, with Stretch driving and honking the horn, I hung on for grim death with one hand and waved with the other as we rolled the 20 metres along Collins Street to Murdoch Street where the wide-eyed hooligans were waiting. With parental assistance the kids were eventually seated in a semi-circle facing Santa with his bag of goodies.

Now as every child knows Santa’s preferred form of transport is a reindeer-drawn sleigh with Rudolph at the front – not a Nissan Patrol with Stretch at the front. So I thought I would start proceedings with an interesting story explaining that, on arrival in Sydney straight from the North Pole, I had landed my sleigh on the top of Sydney Harbour Bridge where Rudolph went walkabout with a kangaroo resulting in Santa having to hitch a lift from Stretch. However, as previously stated, some of these were street-wise kids who weren’t buying this for one moment and, after my first few words, they voiced their indifference to the fate of Rudolph with the chant of “We want presents! We want presents!” I gave up and dutifully handed out the presents.

At the end of proceedings I sloped off back towards the house to get changed only to find half a dozen of the suspicious little blighters were shadowing me – they were still trying to prove that it was me and not the real Santa. Wise to their trickery, instead of turning left down the hill, I turned right away from the house. Halfway up the hill I turned to find I was still being stalked so gave them a couple of full on “Ho! Ho! Ho’s” and “Merry Christmases” Three of them charged me and said “Can we give you a hug, Santa?” Thinking this was probably a ploy to get near me to give my false beard a tug, I said OK but made sure the beard was well out of the way as they gave the cushion strapped to my waist a squeeze.
I then trudged further up the hill thinking I’d lost them only to find another cohort offering hugs – well what can you do? A further round of hugs and I was free. By this time I was very near the pub and, even though I had no money on me, I reckoned that my full Santa costume and a story of stalking kids would go a long way towards blagging me a couple of beers. I stopped at the door and turned around and there, peering round a corner from across the road, was one very small girl wearing a long pink dress and a silver tiara. Not wishing to shatter childhood illusions and perhaps having second thoughts about a beer blagging Santa, I gave the pub a miss and walked round the block and back to Johann’s house with only two further incidents.

Walking past a house with the front door open I overheard an interesting exchange when a small voice shrieked “Mummy! Santa’s just walked past our house” to be met with “Don’t be silly, he doesn’t come until Christmas Eve”

Further down the street a car stopped, the window lowered, a tattooed arm appeared and a voice drawled
“How’s it goin’ Santa?”
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” – I replied
“Got anythin’ for me Santa”
“It depends if you’ve been a good boy?” I quipped wittily – then scarpered!

Back in civvies, still denying that I was Santa and expressing amazment that Santa and I were wearing exactly the same shoes, I rejoined the festivities and got stuck into the beer, wine and barbie.

When darkness fell, the panel convened for the judging of the most tastelessly decorated house in the street. Most houses were be-decked with flashing lights, giant blow-up Santas, reindeer and other Christmas paraphernalia including, believe it or not, a moving parachuting Father Christmas. Whilst the theme was Christmas Tack and Tastelessness, I secretly believed that most householders actually thought their displays were quite tasteful and only Johann and Stretch’s house, upon which Sandra, Johann and I had lavished minutes of decorating effort, exhibited real tastelessness [see photo] – we didn’t win.

One final tale. When decorating the house Johann came across a box full of small blue and silver Christmas decorations made to look like glittery parcels. At 4.30am on the morning of the street party I secretly decorated the street with one hundred and three sparkly Christmas baubles. As day broke the local kids came onto the street and mayhem broke out with calls of “And here’s ANOTHER one!” Santa had indeed come early.