A Jeff of the South Special: Santarctica - The Christmas Special

Like a lift with a busted cable, Christmas is coming more quickly than anyone would like.  It therefore behooves me to present to you (in a timely and appropriate fashion) this Jeff of the South Christmas special:

SANTARCTICA

The tale of Santa at the South Pole

(I know that there are those of you who prefer that he be called Father Christmas rather than Santa, but 'FATHARCTICA' and 'Father Christmas at the Fouth Pole' just don't work as titles.  I'm sorry, but they just don't.  And there's nothing that you, or I, or Father Claus or anyone can do about that.)  

 

It was getting close to Christmas, and the situation at the North Pole was looking dire.  The shrinking icecap there had put Superman's Fortress of Solitude Santa's Workshop at serious risk.

In an act of desperation Santa relocated the entire operation to the South Pole.  (Evidently his Christmas magic is only fully effective in the vicinity of the Earth's axis.  That probably has something to do with physics or some such thing).

For the most part the move went off without a hitch.  A new Workshop, Warehouse and Inventory Management complex was completed in record time, the elves had settled in to their new digs happily enough, and all of the completed stock successfully relocated and  made ready for despatch.

The only hiccup was... no Reindeer!  Under the terms of the Madrid Protocol of the Antarctic Treaty, it is illegal to introduce alien species to the Antarctic, and Santa's sleigh team were therefore banned from the new operation.

It was an unmitigated disaster.

By the time the oversight was discovered there was less than a week to go before Christmas, and Santa had no method of locomotion.  Kylie Minogue was certainly no help.  

Santa was sick with worry.

Upset

Whatever was he to do?  How was he to deliver all that coal those presents to the girls and boys around the world in time for Christmas morning?  Christmas could be ruined!  Ruined!  Or at least have its materialism and consumerism quotient slashed by a whopping 87.6%!

Santa could not allow that to happen.  He had to to appease all his stakeholders, shareholders, cup holders etc.  He had to find something!

He resolved to find something or somebody to pull his sleigh (not a euphemism).  So he set out early in the morning to search for something or somebody that could fit the bill.

The first creatures that Santa came across were Weddell seals (Weddell seals!).  Brimming with enthusiasm, Santa approached them (all the while maintaining the mandated wildlife approach limit of 5 metres for a non-breeding seal) and asked if they would be interested in the job.

Not a photo taken by me.  Obviously.

The Weddells however displayed little inclination to even acknowledge him. Rather they seemed to be more interested in simulating rocks, or staying a little bit out of focus, or both.  As Weddell seals are wont to do.

Discouraged, Santa moved on.

Try as he might, he couldn't find any other seals with which to seal a deal, and so gave up on that idea.

Next in his wanderings he came across an object that had potential.  Might this be the answer to his problem?

Beaut!

He approached full of hope, and asked the thing politely if it would be interested in the job of spreading joy, happiness and greed to the world's kiddies.  However answer came there none.  Indeed, the thing remained (m)ute.  (Sorry).  He asked again, a little more pointedly this time, but was met with the same indifference.

Fr(ute)less

He considered persevering with the thing, and laying out his plan, but decided that this plan would be without utility.  (Sorry).

So again he moved on.

Yes, he is moving.  I used a fast shutter speed so he wouldn't blur.

As he walked Santa remembered that he had previously heard that there were caterpillars in the area.  

Now Santa was no fool.  He knew that a caterpillar would one day turn into a beautiful butterfly, and it would all be better.  A team of butterflies might be just the thing to pull his sleigh, even if it did reflect poorly on his manliness.  So he strode out in search of the caterpillars.

Soon enough, he found one.

Alas, in spite of his entreaties the caterpillar proved just as unresponsive as the ute, and he was forced to abandon his attempt.

Not entirely discouraged, but with his hope draining away, the big fat man with the long white beard sat down to consider his efforts so far.

Pensive

Mammals and machinery had proven unsuitable.  He had to consider other options.

Perhaps a bird?  Maybe, given their natural flying capabilities, birds would fit the bill (sorry) and be able to fly Santa and his sleigh around the world.  But what bird could he find that might be big and strong enough?

He whipped out his iPad and googled.  Skuas!  Skuas could be the answer.  Perfect!

As quickly as he could Santa located some skuas and put to them his proposition.

I know.  No apology is ever going to be enough for this one.

Regardless of how he implored and cajoled, though, the skuas just behaved as if he weren't there.   You might even say they pointedly ignored him.  Dear oh dear!

Poor Santa was at the end of his tether.

End of his tether

Bereft of ideas, he had begun to resign himself to the fact that Christmas would have to be cancelled this year.  Or at least carried on with love and friendship, happiness and family without the underlying foundation of base materialism - a situation Santa feared more than anything.

Suddenly, a curious little creature appeared in front of Santa.

Curious

"Hello," it said, "Why are you crying, you funny looking obese man?"

"Hello there, my squat little friend," Santa responded, "I'm in a spot of bother.  Christmas is very soon, but I have no-one to pull my sleigh for me so that I can deliver presents to all the good little girls and boys in the world."

"Oh!  You must be Santa Christmas Father Claus!" exclaimed the odd little creature.  "Why, that is a terrible plight you find yourself in!  My friends and I would love to help, you know.  We could pull your sleigh if you'd like.  We are old pullers from way back!"

"You would?  You could?" asked Santa, brightening appreciably.

"Of course!" piped the little fellow, "Or mine name isn't Pudolph the Pink-Pawed Penguin."

"I beg your pardon.  What did you say your name was?"

"Pudolph the Pink-Pawed Penguin."

Santa looked sideways at the bizarre little penguin.  "Pink-Pawed?  But penguins don't have p..."

"Oi!" said Pudolph, cutting him off.  "Do you want our help or not?"

"Yes! Yes please!"

"Then enough of your unwelcome observations.  Now come with me and we'll meet the others.  You'll love Pasher and Pantser.  Pupid is a bit strange, though."  

And with that, Pudolph the Pink-Pawed Penguin led Santa off to talk to the others, and Christmas was saved.

A happy ending.  Awwww.

Phew!

What a relief, eh?

"But wait a second!" I hear you cry.  "Penguins can't fly.  How on earth are Pudolph and his mates going to fly Santa around the world?!"

Which, I will admit, is a fine question.  The answer is that Santa will feed them with his magical Christmas Baked Beans; the very same concoction that gave the reindeer team their... uh... unique form of propulsion.

And that's it.  Great literature it ain't.  But it's a story with pictures of Fat Santa and Swim-Swim and a real penguin), which is something, right?

Have a great Christmas.  And don't overdo it.  Or if you must overdo it, don't overdo it so much you require medical attention or counselling afterwards.

With love and best wishes from all of us at team Jeff of the South.  (i.e. me)   Ho ho ho.