SANTA AND THE BIG KIDNAP.

Now come off it - Santa's got to have the odd weakness...

Now, I don't want you to get the idea that Santa Claus was a drinker, but when I bumped into him in the pub last night he was pissed out of his mind. I'm Clark Hogwash, by the way, owner of the donkeys that ply their trade on Skegness Beach. But back to Santa.

The pub is what you would normally consider to be off the fat man's beaten track, it being a good many hundred miles from the frozen North and nowhere near his huge and rambling Ice Castle well known to children everywhere.

When I tried talking to him he was incoherent, so at closing time I took him home with me and sobered him up by offering him a bed for the night, a kindly deed from me seeing as the only bed I had was my own and the settee (where I slept that night) is a good foot too short for me. But I couldn't bring myself to leave the poor old fellow out in the cold once the “Axe and Flagstone” had chucked us out.

Next morning I gave him some breakfast - probably not quite what he's used to bearing in mind his almost obscene girth, but a healthy dish of muesli with semi-skimmed milk was all I had.

"It's perfectly okay," he assured me, "I wasn't expecting anything for breakfast. After all, it was hugely kind of you to offer me a bed for the night, seeing the condition I was in last night."

"Yes, you were a bit the worse for wear," I ventured, inviting him, by my intonation, to tell me why on Earth he'd imbibed so much alcohol in the “Axe and Flagstone”.

He read my question all right, and sighed, and responded.

"I was kidnapped by aliens," he said.

"You what?!!" I almost shouted, spitting out half a mouth of muesli.

"I was kidnapped by aliens," he repeated, eyeing me warily. "You're not one yourself, are you?"

"Of cause not!" I assured him.

"Well, I suppose I'd better explain, though I doubt you'll believe my story because it does seem a mite improbable."

"Just you try me," I assured him.

"Then I will," he smiled at me. And he had what you might call an honest smile, not the sort you'd expect a con-artist or inveterate liar to have.

"You see," he began, "I was out on the frozen wastes that constitute the North Pole last night, taking the air and generally admiring the night sky when I came upon what could only be a flying saucer. It was glowing slightly and its crew of three were standing in a small group turning a patch of snow yellow."

"They were what?" I asked.

"Weeing," he said with a smile. "It happens all the time up North. You see, there aren't any public conveniences for hundreds of miles in any direction, though it did cross my mind that the aliens might have had a loo on board their glowing craft. Anyway, I greeted them in my usual cheery way with a “ho-ho-ho” and went to pass by. The night was growing cold and I was thinking of the warm hearth of home and the ample equally warm bosom of Mother Christmas. But instead of walking in my usual controlled way home I found myself walking directly towards their flying saucer. I had no control over my own legs, and when they spoke the strange aliens made it quite clear they knew nothing of the more important Earth customs because when I tried to explain it was only a fortnight to Christmas when I'd be in much demand they didn't seem to have a clue what I was going on about. You know that Professor Hawking, the one in a wheel chair? Well, they sounded like him, their voices all mechanical and with an unworldly accent.

You are coming with us, Earth fellow, one of them said.

We need to talk to you, said a second.

So we'll take you for a little ride, said the third, and the three of them turned from their attempts at converting white to yellow, tucked their widgers away and zipped their trousers up, then followed me up a ramp and into their flying saucer. And I discovered right then and there what it was because it took off with barely a whisper, and yet I could feel its powerful acceleration stretching all the features on my face.

They took me for a ride, all right. And they asked me questions. All sorts of questions, about my job, about the children of the Earth, what the churches are for and why they're aligned to the East, why people capable of inventing colour television put up with the "X" factor without dying of boredom and why on Earth there's such a person as the Pope. Then they consulted with each other and after what seemed ages one of them turned to me and said:

We were going to settle here amongst you good people and teach you what we know about faster-than-light travel, immortality, ultimate medicines, the abolition of death and pain, the truth about love, the absolute perfection of being alive - but we can't because you're all too superstitious and believe in holy ghosts and virgin births. We'll probably come back in a millennia or two and see if you've got over your hang-ups... Meanwhile, you are free to continue flying about on your sleigh pulled by reindeer and making the children happy once a year...

And the flying saucer landed, and I was forced to walk out into a street. I knew I must be miles from home because there were buildings, lights, chimneys, pubs..."

"Where I found you?" I asked him.

He nodded. "That's right. The beer was good, though - too good! Anyway, the flying saucer took off and vanished in an instant, like magic."

"It's a tall story," I told him.

"I know," he smiled, "but it's true all right. Now all I've got to do is find my way back up to the frozen North and Mother Christmas before it's too late. I'm due to make a delivery on the 24^thof the month!"

"Of March?" I asked. "That's a funny date to be doing anything!"

He looked suddenly shocked. "March!" he yelped.

I relaxed. "Don't worry. I was only teasing," I told him with a hearty smile, "and I'm sure you'll get back home. I'll lend you a donkey if you like. Here: have another cup of tea."

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[W.k.kortas]

Winsome with a strong feel for narrative. Makes a body want to buy the big fella a pint.