It’s all very well for you, sitting at home waiting for Santa to cough up a sack load of toys and goodies on Christmas Eve. All you’ve got to do is send him a note, sit back and wait to clean up. And very nice too.

But do you ever spare a thought for those of us who’ve been working hard all year long to make all that stuff you find in your Christmas stockings? No, I’ll bet you don’t. We’re talking about an enormous great factory in the Arctic Circle. Row upon row of work benches, populated by little guys like me, my friend Eric and all the other overworked and underpaid elves, turning out computer games by the dozen, Lego sets by the hundreds and dolls of all shapes and sizes in the most bizarre costumes. Ah, happy days when all you got was the bog standard princess.

While dolls are still popular with little girls, little boys have graduated onto higher, or rather lower planes. From them, it’s requests for more and more violent video games. Pursuit of the Flesh Eating Zombies or War Against World Exterminators are two popular titles this year. And some of the games are so rude, I’m afraid I’ll have to keep them from the little nippers and hang on to them myself. Not that I want to look at such filth of course.

Oh no, it isn’t all fun and games being one of the little elves. You should try it: slaving away on minimum wage for 60 hours a week and no overtime or time off in lieu. And if anyone of us tackles the boss about it, what do we get? “You should be grateful to have jobs,” he roars.

We did try to form a union once. However, as soon as we started to get organised, one of our number spilled the beans to the old man and all hell was let loose. He summoned us all up to the boardroom and exploded. “You ungrateful load of squirts. Don’t I treat you wonderfully well? Why I’ve even brought in a code of elf and safety to ensure none of you fall into the machinery.” In other words: shut up and get on with it.

Then there are the clothes we elves have to wear. Would you believe that we are prohibited from wearing anything other than our designated elf costumes anywhere outside the factory complex? Pointy green hats and shoes, acrylic green tunics and slacks. Oh sure, we can wear what we like inside the complex, but what’s the point in dressing stylishly when only your mates can see you? I’m not saying the old man – Father Christmas to you – is a dictator. But he’s not far off one.

Oh no, it isn’t all fun and games being one of the little elves

And don’t get me started on the reindeer. Yes, they do look lovely soaring over rooftops pulling the sleigh. But who do you think has to clean up after them in their stables? Got it in one – we elves do. And you have no idea the amount of reindeer poo they can produce. If one of us steps out of line in the workshop we’re put on reindeer duty, shovelling you-know-what for hours on end.

And that jolly fat old Father Christmas isn’t all he’s cracked up to be either. You kids only see him all dragged-up in his red suit, ho, ho, hoing his way around the world on Christmas Eve. The very epitome of the season’s spirit. But you should see him on a cold February morning, after a heavy night on the Snowland schnapps, blundering his way around the factory, cross-hairing any elf he thinks isn’t keeping up with the production target.

Then comes the actual Christmas holiday, when all the toys are packed up and put into sacks for distribution around the world. That should be time for us to relax and recharge the batteries, before starting work again on January 2. You must be joking. Just when we should be taking it easy, the old man has us on grotto duty. Several weeks turning up in Santa grottoes all around the planet, playing courtiers and kow-towing to his nibs.

And if you think slaving away in the workshops is bad enough, you should try a stint in the big shopping malls. Last year I was on my feet from morning till night, ushering little kiddywinks – most of whom were taller, tougher and nastier than me – around the grotto and acting as a mini-mediator between the kids and Father Christmas. Violence is not unknown. I have been kicked, pinched, punched, spat upon and suffered multiple bruising from many and various little darlings and their parents. I have been accused of manhandling, upsetting and even assaulting the little sods.

No mate, being an elf in Santa’s grotto really is no fun. If you don’t believe me, try it some time.

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