It was pandemonium at the grotto, but it usually was. Elves on the sherry, Mrs Claus on the phone to her mother and always the same conversation; Mother: "Well, why can't he get a normal job like yer dad had, eh?" and the reply "Well mum, you know it's a family operation and he didn't really have any choice when his dad ..." Mother: "Don't give me that. Bone idle that's what he is just like his father before him. One night a year and he calls it work, I ask yer!".
Oh yes, the festive spirit was fair bubbling over. As were the reindeer, ever since Blitzen had said he fancied a curry for a change. Like idiots they had all agreed; That had been a week ago and the stable goblin had jacked it in after the first four days. Shoveling it was one thing but dodging it at high speed, in liquid form, from six different directions was too much.
The only one who appeared unworried was SC himself. He was relaxing in the front room, with a T. V. guide, chuckling to himself occasionally.

This air of satisfaction and ease was having the exact opposite effect on the other senior management of Claus Enterprises International, most of whom were starting to feel a bit like the reindeer, but without the vindaloo acceleration.
The reason for their disquiet being that the "old bugger" hadn't done anything since last Christmas Eve and he'd got completely smashed then too!

The problem, as the board saw it, was that in about twenty four hours somewhere in the region of a billion kids would be waking up, expecting to find stockings, pillow cases and trees with presents in the immediate vicinity. A not unnatural expectation for most kids on the night before THE DAY. And where were those goodies? Were the warehouses full of elves packing, hammering and generally doing the biz' - no they bloody well weren't, cause there was nothing to hammer, pack or do anything general to. The place was empty, not a sack to be seen. And who would get the blame, not old SC, oh no, the shareholders would be after their heads.
Due to an anomaly with the terms of incorporation of the company, that there had to be a Santa Clause in charge and there only being one Santa Clause, the "Santa Claus clause" prevented any direct public exposure or culpability of the the ancient scrote. In short, they were stuck holding the proverbial bath water sans enfant and would, likely, be sans boulles et employment come the New Year's stockholders meeting. In short, these were very un-chrismastly thinking gentlemen - they were actually senior gnomes as the major floatation finance had been arranged through Zurich on the account of a Czech group of backers called "The Saint Nick Group".

The other consideration was, of course, that big gnomes came from little gnomes who were represented in their wishes and desires by mummy gnomes. Every one of the board was directly related to at least one of each and had to go home at some point. The prospect of having to explain the minor lapse in operations of CEI to either, let alone both, when they were potentially responsible was the thing of nightmares. SC, himself, was not yet a parent - the Claus tradition of "Once every five hundred years was good enough for dad" still pertained, Mrs C didn't seem to mind either so the arrangement suited both - consequently the gnomes were certain that neither really cared. They, however, would be roasting over an open fire instead of the turkey if nothing was done, and done very very soon!

SC chuckled again gently to himself. He had actually been against the idea of the commercialization of the old firm, but had been pushed into it by the bunch of senior gnomes (now visibly twitching) in the next room.
The gnomes had, traditionally, run the warehousing, elf, dwarf and distribution side of the operation whilst he was in charge of acquisition and final delivery. It was still, he was sure, a mistake. However, due to the Santa Claus Clause (SCC) which he had personally negotiated, he was in the enviable position of not having to carry the can for any hiccups. He knew the bunch of backers that had financed CEI and was loath to have anything to do with them - hadn't his father moved away from that neck of the woods, to the North pole, some two thousand years ago - the old boy did that for a reason. Something to do with rocks and sticks back then, but it was AK47's now. But that would be the gnomes problem. He chuckled again, maliciously.

None of this, of course, is of any interest to thee or me! Is Santa leaving everyone in the lurch? Will there be aroma of gently roasting gnomes over the Christmas Yule log? Will the kiddies of the world awake to disappointment? What of the secretive St. Nick group?

Go to page 2 for the answers to some questions, not necessarily the above ones but some.