Her breath came out in short bursts as her

The night was shrouded in the smoky haze arising from the fires in the north, the air was stale and bitter. She dared not look back, in fear that she would stumble and be caught by

her husband Mr. Claus. Mrs. Claus had had enough. The pipe smoke, the IBS, the months and months of lazying around the house. Her mother had not brought her up that way. So she lef

t. He stumbled out the door after her, stew caked in his beard, belt undone, face flushed from rummynog. "Where do you think you're going to go?!" Then he slipped on reindeer shit

,landed on the right front sleigh runner, broke his coccyx and cracked his inferior ramis of pubis. Screaming and swearing, Santa told the elves one of them had to drive the sleigh

over to Grinch's Garage for emergency repairs. "And tell him to make it snappy!" cried Santa as he was wheeled into the North Pole Hospital."Mrs. Claus will have to take my place!"

"Over my dead body!" exclaimed Mrs. Claus when she was told about Santa's accident. "I can't take his place on Christmas Eve. I've got an appointment with my masseuse." The elves

looked at each other. Mrs Claus's 'masseuse' was a Lithuanian shot-putter called Ignas. His traditional lace apron fooled no-one. Now that Santa was incapacitated no children would

escape from the Facebook Marketing Authority. Old Nick was becoming a bit of a leftie, Mrs Claus lamented, having gradually sloughed off his early Objectivist leanings. The elves

were whispering about unions, but then they always were. Only the reindeer were discussing any initiative, but it would still be a couple of decades before they assumed operations.