I called in for breakfast this morning at the Viking pub, on the way into Goole. Father Christmas was there, preparing to bring some festive cheer to the first customers of the day, though it kinda spoiled the magic to see Santa struggling into his outfit in the public bar of a flat-roofed pub. Just in case he had some spare presents in his sack, I told Santa that I’d been a very good boy this year. Santa was unimpressed. “That’s what they all say", he harrumphed…
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