The Nanny Piggins Guide to Conquering Christmas (9 page)

‘Really fast,’ supplied Michael.

‘Sarah knows what she is doing,’ said Boris.

‘Does she secretly have a parachute in her ball gown?’ asked Samantha.

‘She has got one in her red clutch purse. But whoops!’ said Boris, holding up a red clutch purse. ‘She gave that to me to mind.’

‘Oh no,’ said Samantha. ‘This is going to be the worst Christmas ever.’ And Samantha knew quite a bit about bad Christmases because their beloved mother had gone missing in mid-December (and before she’d had a chance to make a Christmas cake, so it was a double tragedy).

But a moment later, instead of seeing their nanny plummeting back to earth as they expected, they saw, illuminated in the moonlight, what looked like a giant red umbrella with two pig’s feet in the middle, floating slowly down towards the ground.

‘I don’t believe it,’ exclaimed Derrick. ‘Nanny Piggins’ skirt has puffed out and it’s acting as a parachute!’

‘Now I can see why Nanny Piggins says it is vitally important to always wear clean underwear,’ said Michael.

Nanny Piggins gently drifted down below the line of the rooftops, then they heard the most wonderful sound. Instead of a crash or a thud, there was a huge ‘kersplash!’ as Nanny Piggins landed safely in the backyard swimming pool of Mr and Mrs Taylor, three blocks away.

‘You see, I told you she’d be fine,’ said Boris.

Boris and the children ran around to the Taylors’ house and met a very soggy Nanny Piggins emerging from the front gate.

‘Well that was fun!’ said Nanny Piggins excitedly. ‘Although I think I’ve ruined my best ball gown. I must have a word with Mr Taylor about using less chlorine in his pool.’

‘You’re not hurt?’ asked Samantha.

‘Not at all,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I enjoyed it tremendously. There was just enough time in my flight for me to eat my chocolate earrings.’

‘But what are you going to do about delivering all the toys?’ asked Derrick. ‘You’ve been Santa Claus for forty minutes now and you haven’t managed to deliver any presents.’

‘At this rate you’ll never get presents to everyone in just one night,’ added Michael.

‘I must admit I don’t seem to be as effortlessly good at this job as I am at every other job I try,’ conceded Nanny Piggins. ‘Perhaps we should go and consult Santa. He may have regained consciousness by now, and he might be able to let me in on some of his tricks. He could at least tell me where he parked his reindeer.’

So Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children went back to their house where they found Santa still lying on the couch. They knew he was all right because no-one with a serious head injury would snore that loudly.

‘Wake up, Santa,’ called Nanny Piggins. ‘Wake up!’

Santa suddenly woke up with a grunt and a very unattractive snort. ‘What, what, what?’ said Santa. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

‘Santa sounds awfully familiar,’ said Samantha with growing dread.

‘Aaaggghhh! His beard has fallen off!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins when Santa’s beard had came away on her toffee-stained trotters.

But the children were not looking at the beard, they were looking at a far more shocking sight – the now naked-faced Santa.

‘Aaaaggghhh, it’s Father!’ yelled the children.

‘Urgh,’ moaned Mr Green. ‘What happened? I’ve just had the most peculiar dream. I was walking along the street when suddenly a great big fat bear started yelling at me.’

Boris (who had hidden under a lampshade as soon as he saw Mr Green) whimpered. He was very sensitive about his weight.

Nanny Piggins, who was very protective of her brother, slapped Mr Green hard across the face.

‘Ow!’ squealed Mr Green. ‘What did you do that for?’

‘Oh I’m sorry,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Slapping is for hysteria, isn’t it? And icepacks are for head injuries. I always get those two confused. I really must finish reading that first-aid book.’

‘Give me back my fake beard,’ demanded Mr Green. ‘I don’t want to lose my deposit at the costume shop.’

‘I will not. How dare you walk the street impersonating a beloved holiday icon,’ scolded Nanny Piggins. ‘Children love Santa. Just think how disappointed they would be if they thought Santa was like you.’

‘I’m not dressed up in this ridiculous costume voluntarily,’ snapped Mr Green. ‘I only did it because the senior partner made me for the firm’s Christmas party.’

‘Why you?’ asked Derrick.

‘I was the only one the red suit would fit,’ admitted Mr Green.

‘Ah yes, because you’re fat,’ said Nanny Piggins nodding knowingly.

‘But why were you bringing home a big sack full of toys?’ asked Michael. ‘Shouldn’t you have given them out at the Christmas party?’

‘I didn’t get a chance to give away any toys because none of the children would come and sit on my lap,’ grumbled Mr Green. ‘I threatened to take a wooden spoon to them if they didn’t do as they were told, but that only seemed to make them cry harder.’

‘What I want to know,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘is if there was a work Christmas party, why didn’t you take your own children?’

‘Um well, um . . .’ stuttered Mr Green. ‘It never occurred to me. I forgot I had children, I suppose.’

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Derrick. ‘At least we didn’t hurt the real Santa.’

‘And we can leave it to the real Santa to deliver presents to all the boys and girls of the world,’ added Samantha.

‘I suppose,’ conceded Nanny Piggins, ‘but can we still go back across the road so I can blast myself out of Mrs Roncoli’s chimney again. That was a lot of fun.’

‘I don’t think Mrs Roncoli would appreciate it if we did structural damage to her home,’ worried Samantha.

‘Pish!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I’m sure she won’t even notice.’

And so Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children had a wonderful Christmas Day. It started well when Mr Green went into the office to do some paperwork (he needed to rack up brownie points because he was going to have a tricky time explaining to the senior partner how the sack full of toys had come to be a small pile of melted debris). Then because Nanny Piggins had never made a Christmas dinner before, the children were in charge of all the cooking. And knowing their nanny well, they served Christmas pudding, Christmas pudding, Christmas pudding and Christmas pudding for entree, main course, dessert and second dessert.

Admittedly Nanny Piggins did ruin the first Christmas pudding. When the children turned off the lights and brought the pudding into the dining room topped with flickering brandy sauce, Nanny Piggins was so horrified to see a dessert on fire she threw herself on the flames (risking her dress and her personal safety). But once the children had explained that flaming brandy sauce was traditional and in no way damaged the pudding, Nanny Piggins was able to relax and enjoy the meal. She enjoyed sucking the pudding off her dress. And then they all enjoyed eating the other three puddings off plates. After they had eaten as much as was physically possible, they went into the living room and had a wonderful time watching Boris perform
The Nutcracker
. (He did break two vases and the light fitting but only because he put on such a spectacular performance.)

‘So, Nanny Piggins,’ said Michael. ‘What do you think of Christmas?’

‘I think it’s wonderful,’ said Nanny Piggins.

‘So you’re not going to put chicken wire over the chimney next year then?’ asked Derrick.

‘No, of course not,’ said Nanny Piggins.

‘Good,’ said Samantha with relief.

‘Next year,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘I’ll put a trip wire down by the stockings. Santa will never see that coming.’

Regrettably, because my weak-willed publishers fret and fuss every time someone threatens to sue them, I am being forced to tell you how to make a ‘safe’ Santa trap.

Apparently several spoilsports (parents) are concerned that children who read my story
Nanny Piggins Saves Christmas
will be inspired to climb up on their roof and nail chicken wire over the chimney. (Indeed, two children in Switzerland already have. The Swiss will insist on building their houses with extremely steep roofs. Fortunately there had been six feet of snow the night before so the children had something lovely and soft to fall on.)

Obviously there is nothing wrong with trying to prevent home intruders. But many parents and emergency room doctors are concerned because so few children have advanced circus training or proper safety harnesses and, therefore, have a tendency to fall off their rooftops. This is not a problem for the children of Coober Pedy where roofs are at ground level, but anybody who lives in an above-ground dwelling is really ill-advised to fall off a roof, especially if they live in a multi-storey block of flats.

Trust me, you don’t want to spend Christmas Day in hospital. I shudder to think what they would serve for your Christmas lunch. They might say it’s ‘turkey’, but given the sorry state of our public hospital system it is more likely to be a rat the chef caught down the back of his refrigerator.

So here are the instructions for building a safe Santa trap (safe for you, but not for Santa).

Instead of climbing up on the roof and nailing chicken wire over the top of your chimney, simply nail the chicken wire over the bottom of the chimney, across the open fireplace. This will save you having to climb up on the roof, in possibly inclement weather, and it will actually work far better because chicken wire at the bottom will trap Santa inside your chimney so he has no way of escaping until the police arrive. In fact, if you leave a packet of biscuits in the fireplace (preferably chocolate-coated), Santa will be so busy gobbling them up he may not even realise that he is trapped. As you can guess from his physique, he really does like chocolate biscuits.

So there you have it. Please don’t climb up on your roof just to trap Santa. He is not worth it, and you might fall off the roof. If you block the chimney, you will only encourage Santa to smash his way in through a window and it is devilishly hard to get a glazier to come out and repair a window on Christmas Day.