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“Well to be honest, Mr. Sharpe, I’m not sure if I know what happened. Let me see – I remember coming down the chimney. It’s a very nice one by the way, a straight shaft with none of those curves and right angles in it.

Snowbirds know where he goes but they keep that kind of information to themselves. They ply the old goat with booze so they get first crack at the goodies next Christmas.

I don’t doubt when he jotted down the poem, old Clement was pretty well juiced.

Under the terms of the union contract at Otaco (re: statutory holidays) he shouldn’t have been paid for Christmas at all.