In Good Company: Impersonators At Large
...Over the years I have paid to see some whimsical sights. Some with beards pointing due West, some with outsize moustaches almost growing out of their
eyeballs, some whose spirit of goodwill had left a telltale stain along his whiskers and ignoring my negative expression promised too much too soon to one small boy....
Christmas Day is weeks away, but Santas are already "Ho-hoing' in countless stores. Enid Blackburn considers the fraught business of toy-buying.
'Is he the real one, dad?’ asked a small voice full of disillusion. Dad looked embarrassed. Giving Father Christmas another surreptitious glance he patted his offspring’s wilting head and confessed, ‘No son, he is probably one of his helpers.’
An excuse we parents pour out year after year when children come face to face with the pathetic ludicrous figures that fall far below their beloved storybook image, impersonators who mistakenly imagine that children are instantly appeased by the sight of a red dressing gown and a touch of cotton wool.
The scene was a Huddersfield toy department where an earlier than ever Santa had eventually settled after his long journey. Another small infant clutching a much-cuddled teddy wasp pushed on the dais where the beaming figure was holding court. One look at the bewhiskered face and the tiny teddy-clutcher collapsed in terror, which was not surprising as this year’s Father Christmas was sporting . . . two moustaches! This must be a record even for him, definitely not a pleasant sight.
His bright new outfit, complete with boots, his friendly patter guaranteed to inspire the toughest agnostic, the merry eyeballs were all in vain – the whole bewitching effect was ruined by his phenomenal whiskers. The false moustache, a feature of most Santa’s, had been severely displaced by a heavily aggressive home-grown one that refused to be disguised. This double layer gave him a sort of out-of-focus, double-dimensional appearance and had one wondering about double vision.
Consequently his beard was a little misplaced. There was a piece of chin sticking through the mouth gap and his beard was trailing round his Adam’s apple, as if someone had held his beard down and given him a facelift, proving once again to young believers that Santa neither sleeps with his whiskers under nor over the sheet, but hangs them on the bedpost.
Kitting out Santa is no easy task, when his figure fluctuates so much each year. But let’s give young imaginations a little credit. Even a three-year-old can see through a three-inch gap between false beard and chin. The idea of visiting without charge is most commendable though, and I hope this trend catches on – but please, Santa, shave off one layer.
Over the years I have paid to see some whimsical sights. Some with beards pointing due West, some with outsize moustaches almost growing out of their
eyeballs, some whose spirit of goodwill had left a telltale stain along his whiskers and ignoring my negative expression promised too much too soon to one small boy.
After one expensive consultation one child (probably noticing the tatty outfit) marched out, demanding like an irate husband ‘What does he do with all his money?’
Our son was miserably disappointed on one occasion to discover Santa wore dark pin-stripe trousers beneath his gown and wanted to know why he wore brown pointed toes instead of Wellies.
The toy shops are tantalising places to be now. Watching the pre-Christmas dramas unfold can be fascinating. First the family group stroll in holding hands. Mummy and daddy watch proudly as junior darts in ecstasy towards the invitingly packaged boxes. The mum gently drags him to one side while she checks the prices. Next dad starts prising off the cellotape to peruse the contents, he winds all the winders, tests the mechanical objects, flicks through the annuals; mum cuddles a doll or two, pulls the strings tugs the curls. Toddler waits anxiously in his non-seeing position below counter, until he decides it’s his turn.
His groping fingers and tentative selectings do not go unnoticed. The extra Christmas staff swoop down brimming with motherly advice. ‘Don’t touch. dear.’ Reminded of there responsibility dutiful parents scold naughty little boy and while mum drags wailing recalcitrant away dad makes his secret purchase. All exit, with youngest dying for the day he will grow up and become a toy-toucher, like dad.
I think it’s safe to admit this now my children are older. When they were in their early ‘I want’ stages I used to dump them in the nearest toy department and with orders to ‘stay here while I collect you’ I let them loose on unsuspecting assistants while I disappeared for half an hour.
On my return they were either sitting on the steps scowling with a newly appointed ‘heavy’ patrolling the entrance or nowhere to be seen – according to their powers of subterfuge.
*
WE parents are now entering what must be one of the most harrowing seasons of all. Christmas loaves to mix, puddings to boil and all the green tomatoes to use up in home-made chutney. This is the sum total of my culinary efforts until the week before Christmas anyway. Every year I promise to make mincemeat of the Bramley’s but have never made it yet.
Of course, if after all the power cuts you are still supporting a freezer, you can start wearing yourself out earlier, and prepare your entire Christmas menu during November. Then when the time comes all you have to do is switch on for the big warm up. Instead of a kitchen heavy with delicious vapours of frizzling turkey and bubbling savouries on Christmas Day morning and the usual bustle from oven to kitchen table – you are free to spend extra time with the family. Free to listen to all the old stories on their umpeenth airing or you can spend an enjoyable hour waiting for your turn at scrabble – as your pre-cooked delicacies thaw out on their own.
I am old-fashioned I know, but my Christmas Day kitchen has a perfume all its own, I actually enjoy cooking dinner on Christmas Day. My reward comes afterwards while the others are washing up and I am left with the chocs.
For any other old-fashionds this rich fruity Christmas pudding is an ancient family recipe (not mine) dating back to about 1713 and should be made now.
Ingredients:
8oz flour, 8oz suet, 8oz each sultanas, currants, raisins, peel, 1tsp mixed spice
8oz grated carrot, 8oz brown sugar, grated lemon rind, 4oz chopped almonds, 1tsp grated nutmeg, small peeled raw potato grated, 1 large wineglass rum or brandy.
Method:
Mix together, put in basins, cover and steam for eight hours and store in cool place. Steam for another three hours at Christmas.
