Santa's therapist writes to me

I dunno.  Not only do I get complaining letters from Santa himself but now his therapist has begun a correspondence with me.  (What a silly, silly, silly man .... does he know what he's letting himself in for?)


Dear Fran

I hope you don't mind me using your first name.  I do keep asking Santa what your surname is, but I am afraid that he has enough trouble saying 'F ...  F .. Fr .... Fra .... Fran' without falling to the ground in a stupor and screaming 'No!  No!  Don't let her near me!'  and I don't like to push him further.

I have been seeing Santa for a few years now.  Do you remember when you sent that first letter in the year 2002?  Well, it would have been that year when he called me and asked for an appointment.  When I say, 'he' called me, I mean one of his elves, for my first few visits to Santa had to take place at his own home, where he was tucked up in bed with a bright red blanket and several elves mopping his brow and feeding him thin broth.  At first, I have to admit, I was convinced he needed a doctor and not a therapist, because I couldn't imagine what would send a man into such a state of apoplexy if it weren't an illness.  But the elves assured me it had all been because of a letter, a rather long letter, sent by a lady with very high expectations and followed up by 49 phone calls, 733 texts and a visit from a hitman in a black coat and a low-brimmed hat.

News had got round that Santa was looking for a replacement, but Wikileaks had released Fran's letters on the Internet and all the possible candidates made a run for it. 

As you won't be surprised to hear, I was alarmed that any lady would have found all this harassment necessary just to persuade Santa to send her a copy of 'Eat Whole Cheesecakes but Look Fabulous' and an exercise DVD which only had exercises such as 'Lift Your Cup of Tea to your Lips' and 'Press the Buttons on your Mobile'.  It seems that no matter how many times he tried to tell you he did not stock these titles, you persisted.

This is why I am writing to you.  Santa recovered well that first year (although his three months in the asylum was a major setback to the running of his business and he had to put a deputy in charge, hence the complaints that year that Santa had never had antlers before and that his hooves woke the children up just as he was delivering the presents).  However, we all thought your letter had been a one-off - the requests of someone temporarily insane.  But since then, year after year, your letters have kept coming, and Santa's medication is not proving efficacious any more.  (We did at one point discover that this was because he kept dropping the pills into his beard and we thought we'd never get them out.  But we sorted this with a nit comb.)  Now, as well as frequent hysterical fits,  he has developed claustrophobia, which for someone whose living depends on squeezing an 18 stone frame down a narrow chimney, is not, as you will appreciate, that helpful.

May I, on Santa's behalf, ask you to desist from sending further letters and give him a small chance of a complete recovery?  As you will see below, all Santa's elves and reindeer have signed this letter, as they are the ones who suffer when Santa is acting particularly strangely.  (Let's just say his ho-ho-ho turns on some days into ha-ha-ha and it frightens the smallest elves and youngest reindeer.)

I do hope you will feel able to help.  I have enclosed my leaflet about the '10 Simple Steps to Freeing Yourself from Clooney Addiction' Programme, as Santa told me this might be useful to you.  Should you want to see a therapist, please do feel free to make an early appointment with any other therapist except me.

Yours in hope

Santa's therapist