The Nanny Piggins Guide to Conquering Christmas (7 page)

Obviously, bribing a police officer is wrong. But if your local Police Sergeant loves freshly baked shortbread cookies as much as mine does, I advise you to have a batch of these ready at all times. It’s not so much a bribe as a mood enhancer. Experience has taught me that nothing makes the Police Sergeant forget what he is cross about as quickly as a mouthful of shortbread.

175 grams butter

110 grams caster sugar

200 grams plain flour

25 grams semolina flour

a little caster sugar for dusting

1.   Preheat the oven to 150°C.

2.   Lay a sheet of baking paper on a cookie tray.

3.   Beat the butter and sugar together with a wooden spoon.

4.   Add the flour and semolina flour and keep beating.

5.   Then abandon the spoon and knead with your hands until you have a dough. (Don’t be afraid to get messy. It will be fun to lick off later.)

6.   Sprinkle some caster sugar on the bench, then roll out the dough.

7.   Cut out shapes using festive cookie cutters (or you can use letter shapes if you need to send someone a rude message). Then lay your shapes out on the cookie tray.

8.   Use a fork to prick the shortbread shapes in the middle or they will rise up while baking.

9.   Bake in the oven for 25 to 30 minutes, or until they start to go brown around the edges.

10. Remove your cookies from the oven, lay them out on a cooling rack and dust them with caster sugar for extra crunchiness.

11. Eat, enjoy and share with any law enforcement officer who is cross with you.

PS. If you get into trouble as much as I do then it is wise to make up a double batch of dough, and keep half in the fridge as a standby. (Roll the spare dough into a log and wrap it up in cling wrap.) Then, if you find out the police are about to swoop, you can quickly get a batch in the oven before they kick in your door. With luck, the smell will be so divine the Police Sergeant will entirely forget to serve the arrest warrant.

’Twas the night before Christmas, so naturally Nanny Piggins was up on the roof Santa-proofing the house by fastening chicken wire over the chimney.

‘Right, pass me the nail gun,’ instructed Nanny Piggins.

‘You know Santa Claus is not a bad person,’ said Michael, handing it to her.

‘I know that,’ said Nanny Piggins.

‘Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!’ went the nail gun.

‘No-one likes getting presents from strangers more than me,’ continued Nanny Piggins, ‘but that doesn’t mean that breaking and entering is all right. If he wants to give us gifts he should knock on the door, come in and have a slice of cake like a normal person.’

The children looked at each other. Their nanny was not accustomed to the finer points of Christmas. Because, you see, she had lived most of her life in the circus, and the Ringmaster never let them celebrate the yuletide holiday.

In fact, he never let them celebrate any holiday. He even discouraged them from knowing the day of the week. Anything that allowed them to measure time, and realise how long they had been working for him, was strictly forbidden.

‘It amazes me that one overweight man, wearing a bright red fur-trimmed suit no less, manages to go on a worldwide crime spree on the same night every year and nobody has ever done anything about it!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘You’d think at the very least the animal rights activists would have a go at him for wearing fur.’

‘Perhaps they don’t because they like getting presents,’ suggested Michael.

‘You’re probably right,’ agreed Nanny Piggins. ‘So few people have principles anymore. Especially when it comes to a stocking full of chocolate treats and toys. Now where’s my note?’

Derrick handed his nanny the note she had written earlier. It read:

Dear Mr Santa Claus,

Kindly refrain from breaking into this home via the chimney. If you were a true gentleman you would knock at the front door and introduce yourself. Or at the very least climb in through the upstairs bathroom window like a normal person.

Kind Regards

Nanny Piggins F.P. (Flying Pig)

‘There, that ought to do it,’ said Nanny Piggins as she used the nail gun to fix the note to the chimney stack.

Boris promptly burst into tears. Celebrating Christmas was new for him too, but unlike Nanny Piggins he was anxious not to miss out. ‘But what about me?’ blubbered Boris. ‘My shed doesn’t have a chimney. How am I going to get my presents?’

Samantha gave Boris’ leg a comforting hug. ‘I’m sure he’ll climb in through the window or dismantle part of the roof. After all, he’s Santa, so he’s got lots of initiative.’

‘I hope so,’ said Boris, struggling to control his tears. ‘It’s just that I really do like getting presents.’

‘It’s bears like you who send mixed messages to burglars,’ said Nanny Piggins sternly. ‘Either it’s all right to break into people’s homes or it’s not.’

‘You break into people’s homes all the time,’ Derrick pointed out.

‘But that’s different,’ protested Nanny Piggins.

‘How?’ asked Michael.

Fortunately Nanny Piggins was saved from having to find logic in her argument because at this point they were interrupted by a noise from below.

‘There is someone on the street,’ whispered Derrick.

‘Is it the Police Sergeant?’ asked Nanny Piggins. ‘I called him and reported that there was a large fat man, wearing red, breaking into houses tonight. True, he did laugh at me and hang up. But perhaps he has decided to do something about it after all.’

They all crept to the edge of the roof and looked over. And they were startled by what they saw. It was not the Police Sergeant. No, it was someone much more impressive. It was the greatest annual home intruder of them all.

‘It’s Santa Claus!’ gasped Nanny Piggins.

There was no mistaking the red clothes, the white beard, the sack full of toys and the ‘little round belly that shook like a bowl full of jelly when he laughed’ (not that he laughed while they were watching him. But he did sneeze and it definitely wobbled then).

‘But where are his reindeer?’ asked Boris. It did seem strange to see Santa travelling on foot. He did not look like a man who took exercise regularly.

‘Perhaps they’ve ditched him because they don’t want to do jail-time,’ said Nanny Piggins.

‘He’s got a lot of toys in that sack,’ said Michael. ‘I hope he’s got something good for us.’

‘Pass me the nail gun again,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I’ve got a present for him if he tries getting down our chimney.’

‘You can’t shoot Santa with a nail gun!’ protested Samantha.

‘Not even a little bit?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

‘No!’ exclaimed the children.

‘I could just nail his boots to the roof until the police get here,’ suggested Nanny Piggins.

‘He’s got to deliver presents to all the boys and girls in the world,’ explained Derrick. ‘He hasn’t got time to be arrested.’

‘He’s only got to deliver them to all the
good
boys and girls,’ muttered Nanny Piggins. ‘That’s probably only seven or eight children on the entire planet. After all, 365 days in a row is an awfully long time to expect a child to behave themselves. Most of them struggle to keep it up for five minutes. Delivering presents to
good
children will probably only take him an hour or two. Then he’ll go home to the North Pole and watch television.’

‘Well, I’ve been a good boy and I’m not letting him forget about me!’ declared Boris as he leapt up to his full height, waved his arms and called out, ‘Hey, Santa! I live in the shed around the back. I haven’t got a chimney but I’ll leave out a chainsaw and you can cut a hole in the roof if you like.’

Unfortunately Santa Claus was so shocked to suddenly be addressed by a ten-foot-tall bear standing on a rooftop, that he stumbled backwards, dropping his sack and falling into the gutter, where he hit his head hard on the edge of the pavement.

‘Oh my goodness!’ exclaimed Samantha. ‘You’ve killed Santa!!!’

Boris burst into tears. ‘I didn’t mean to!’ he sobbed.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll first-aid him,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘He may be an international master criminal, but if he needs an icepack I’m just the pig for the job!’ With that dramatic statement, Nanny Piggins leapt straight off the roof.