Santa – we all remember him, don’t we? I can almost feel the knobbly knee between my adolescent buttocks as I was positioned onto Santa’s lap. He said “I’ve got something for you”, and I said “what is it” and he said “put your little hand in my stocking and pull it out”. Well I said “this feels very small”. But do you know something? It got bigger in my hand! Oh yes! I do have memories of Santa and his claws.

My back was ripped asunder. Santa seemed to be after something, as if he was looking for something, using my body as if it were wrapping paper. Oh yes. I was used by Santa. I have many memories of Santa and his grotto. Santa ruined my life. No wonder I became a registered drug addict and anti-social, and that all my relationships have been *profoundly* un-suc-cess-ful. Oh yes. Santa ruined my life. I really did see Santa kissing… Daddy, underneath the plastic mistletoe. Can you imagine the effect that had on me: a small child?

Santa tied me up with bits of tinsel and hung baubles and bangles and beads around my head and ears, and tried to make me into a Christmas tree decoration. I thought that that was normal! I remember my tears. I remember Santa making unnatural demands. Because I wanted a prize, because I wanted to stick my hand in his brown tub and pull something out!

Tiny little fingers, in Santa’s beard. Where did they come from – and why was there blood all around his mouth? His face, I thought would be a beautiful ruddy complexion – but it was green and it smelt. If you rearrange the letters in Santa’s name – you get Satan! Rearrange the letters in Clause, and I give you *kdjuhnn*! Santa – also the name of a pedigree Staffordshire Bull Terrier belonging to Camilla Parker Bowles.

I went into his grotto. The stench of human excrement was disgusting. They obviously hadn’t cleaned up and they’ve been there for months, squatting there. People lying around in their own excrement, their own filth. Feces up the wall of the grotto, that’s what I remember. And poor Rudolph, poor little Rudolph – only had three legs. Why? Because Santa had torn off one of Rudolph’s front legs! And there it was – rotating on a spit! And there was Santa, drinking straight from a gin bottle. Pointing at the bubbling meat on the rotisserie, inviting people to pull at Rudolph’s flesh. And Rudolph stood there looking faintly ridiculous, wearing a reindeer sized suspender belt and tights… and a ridiculous sort-of bra ensemble. I went in there to tell Santa what I wanted for Christmas. I walked into an ABATTOIR!! Santa sat there with his legs open and his chainsaw in his hand. I’ll never forget the sound. rrrrRRRRRrrRRRR!!!! He said “would you like a glove puppet for Christmas?” and “I said yes please!” and he said “so would I”!

Rearrange the letters in Santa – and I give you SATAN.

Santa.