MORE LETTERS FROM SANTA

It’s that time of year again when I get emails from the people who write letters from Santa. Alright. It is admittedly better than emails from Stannah Stairlifts. “Is it time for you to consider a helping hand up the stairs, Matthew?” No. No it isn’t, you cheeky blighters.

Anyway, the Santa people are promising ‘personalised greetings’ from the man himself, or rather, if I read the Comic Sans letterhead in the email, the ‘Office of Santa Claus’, implying that, wait, he has an office? Like a president, or a royal, or the head of a corporation? Honestly people, workshop! If anything it’s Santa’s workshop, not his office that’s sending out the letters, surely. His office indeed. 

Anyway, the letters cost £8.99.

I know because I clicked through the process, adding info into the fields, pretending I was ordering one for Sammy.

“I know you’ve been doing so well at stacking the dishwasher and making the dinners,” says Santa. “And I heard that you’ve been good at leaving the house on time all year round, which is another reason you’ll be getting lots of nice things, maybe even horse riding stuff and unicorn socks… this Christmas. I’ll also stop off and see your best friend, Matthew, so give him my best Christmas wishes…”

Oh don’t worry. I’m not actually going to send it. It’s strange though; as I read through it, I did wonder whether I was making a mockery of something quite sweet and wholesome after all. I wouldn’t want to do that.

But that is the problem - behind the sweetness is £8.99 per letter, and a very real office actually, probably in some business park somewhere, where automated systems are printing these things off to the sound of tinkling cash bells.

And I think if you get the chance, you could easily do this yourself. Sparkly pen, aged paper (teabag), maybe a glittery envelope - all the things you want to say, personalised in the best possible way by you. Low-fi, old-fashioned, a Christmassy touch that feels almost like a bit of magic might have happened. Because it has - love. You can’t really automate that.

In fact, I think I might write my own letter to Sammy this year - not from Santa, but from me. Feels like a nice thing to do, in all seriousness. Old-fashioned I may be, but not in need of automation, it turns out. And not, let me remind you, in need of a stairlift either.