We saw Santa outside Costa Coffee yesterday. He wasn’t an attraction; he was nonchalantly drinking coffee, alongside Mrs Claus at one of the al fresco tables.
Sammy found it hilarious. “He deserves a break!” she exclaimed, after I asked what he thinks he’s up to. Honestly, he was a proper Santa, not a tacky shopping-mall cotton-wool-beard knockoff; a genuine old Father Christmas. With a latte and a newspaper.
We went in to the shop. It was coming up on closing time so hardly anyone was inside. My glasses steamed up instantly, which gave the girl behind the counter a giggle as I scanned the flapjacks. There was a lady mopping the floor there too who laughed uproariously at something Sammy said - I think she was trying to stop me walking in the wet bit.
Lights twinkled outside, the all-too-ubiquitous Christmas music played, and I clutched my double-cupped earl grey tea in both hands. It was, undoubtedly festive. And yes, undeniably still November.
And yet there we were - sprinkled with a little of that indescribable Christmas feeling. Where had that come from? I wondered.
Santa was still there in the twilight.
Mrs Claus looked happy. I don’t know. Did he wink at me? I didn’t tell Sammy; it just seems a bit silly… well anyway, Costa Claus… and there did seem to be some joyful magic in the air.
Sammy, who seems to live Christmas from August onwards, was absolutely loving it. Of course she was.
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