‘Piggins, I need you to take the children down to the shopping centre to have their photo taken with Santa,’ said Mr Green.
It was such an unexpected thing for him to say, Nanny Piggins almost chocked on her chocolate bar. (She often served chocolate bars for breakfast on Friday mornings, because she was exhausted from cooking chocolate-flavoured baked goods all the rest of the week.)
The children just groaned.
‘Did I just have an out-of-body experience?’ asked Nanny Piggins. ‘Or did your father really just ask me to take you to have your photo taken with Santa?’
‘No, you didn’t have an out-of-body experience,’ said Derrick.
‘You might have,’ said Michael, ‘but it wasn’t anything to do with what Father said.’
‘Father sends us to have our photo taken with Santa every year,’ explained Samantha.
‘Really?’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘How unexpectedly festive of him.’
‘It isn’t,’ said Derrick.
‘He only does it for the money,’ explained Michael.
‘Great Aunt Hilda sends us ten dollars each if Father posts her a photograph of us with Santa,’ continued Samantha.
‘What does she send if you don’t post her a picture of you with Santa?’ asked Nanny Piggins.
‘She sends us nothing,’ said Samantha.
‘Oh,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I thought you were going to say she sent you twenty dollars instead. But if she sends ten dollars to each of you, how does that benefit your father?’
‘He waits by the letterbox until it arrives, tears open our envelopes and keeps the money for himself,’ explained Derrick.
‘Good gracious, no!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins. ‘Are there no depths to which that dreadful man will sink?’
‘I’m sitting right here,’ protested Mr Green. ‘I can hear every word you’re saying.’
‘I think it is best for you if I pretend that is not true,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Given the wickedness of your postal theft, you deserve a short sharp bite on the shins. In fact 27 short sharp bites on the shins, one for every year you have stolen the Christmas cash from your own children.’
‘Where do you get the number 27 from?’ spluttered Mr Green. He did not want to be bitten at all, but certainly not that many times.
Nanny Piggins sighed. ‘The ages of your children,’ she explained. ‘Michael is seven, Samantha is nine and Derrick is eleven. Add that up and it makes 27 ten-dollar notes you’ve stolen since they were born.’
‘It’s only right that they should chip in for their room and board,’ said Mr Green. ‘They’ve been hiding behind those pesky child labour laws for years now.’
‘Is that what you spend the money on?’ asked Nanny Piggins. ‘On room and board? Or do you spend it on yourself?’
‘I do no such thing,’ protested Mr Green.
‘Oh, then I know what you do with it,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘You take their ten-dollar notes down to the bank and put it in a high-interest savings account, don’t you, because the only thing you love more than money is locking away money to earn even more money. Isn’t that right?’
‘You know, some people would call that fiscal responsibility,’ argued Mr Green.
‘People who steal Christmas presents from children should not look to fiscal responsibility to explain away their depraved behaviour,’ denounced Nanny Piggins.
‘Are you going to take them to get their Santa photo taken or not?’ asked Mr Green.
‘Of course I’ll do it,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘The bakery at the shopping centre is far inferior to Hans’ fine establishment, but they do give away free samples on their counter top, and if I take along my extensive collection of fake moustaches, I should be able to walk past helping myself at least two dozen times before they figure out what I’m up to and chase me off.’
So Nanny Piggins and the children caught the bus down to the shopping centre and they took Boris with them. He was very keen to come because he had never had his photo taken with Santa. He had tried one year, but as soon as he hopped up on Santa’s lap, Santa had been rushed away to hospital with a suspected broken knee.
‘Which do you think is my best side today?’ Boris asked the children, showing them first his left, then his right profile.
‘Um…’ said Derrick, not knowing what to say. Boris was a bear covered in brown fur so, to Derrick’s weak human eyes, Boris looked exactly the same on both sides. But Derrick had known Boris long enough to know that such an answer was sure to end in tears. In fact, almost any answer was sure to end in tears.
‘Oh Boris, we hoped you wouldn’t ask us that,’ said Samantha.
‘You did?’ asked Boris, bracing himself, ready to weep.
‘You are so handsome on both sides, it is almost impossible to tell the difference. We have been arguing about that very issue all week. Derrick and Michael actually came to blows about it. Then they looked at you again, and both changed their minds and almost came to blows arguing the exact opposite thing,’ said Samantha.
Derrick and Michael stared at their sister in astonishment. She was normally such a good girl. To see her fabricate the most spectacular and outrageous lie right before their eyes was a sight to behold.
They turned to Boris to see how he would react. Boris thought about it for a moment, then burst into tears. But it was all right, because they were tears of joy (a much quieter kind of tears), because he was grateful for such an extravagant compliment.
So Boris was only sobbing softly as they got off the bus and entered the shopping centre.
‘Right, let’s go to the bakery,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘Shouldn’t we get our Santa photo taken first?’ asked Derrick.
‘Why?’ asked Nanny Piggins. As a general rule she did not believe in delaying eating.
‘Well, if the bakery has you thrown out by security we won’t be able to get the picture taken,’ said Derrick.
‘Hmm,’ grumbled Nanny Piggins. ‘I suppose that is the type of petty thing a sub-standard baker would do.’
They made their way to the central atrium on the ground floor where Santa’s grotto was located.
‘Urgh,’ complained Nanny Piggins. ‘Look, there’s a huge queue. It’s ridiculous.’
‘It’s Christmas; a lot of people want to have photos with Santa,’ argued Boris.
‘Yes, but if a speed camera on a highway can snap a picture of each passing motorist in less than a second,’ argued Nanny Piggins, ‘why can’t they use the same technology here. It would speed up the process, and give people more time to go and get free samples from the bakery.’
Fortunately Nanny Piggins was very good at whiling away time. She took out a jar of cockroaches, which she just happened to have in her handbag, and emptied them onto the floor, then took bets on which one would run up Santa’s leg and into his gumboot first.
A mere half hour later, after many of the more hygiene-minded mothers had whisked their children as far away from Nanny Piggins as possible, Derrick Samantha and Michael arrived at the front of the queue. They were just about to head for Santa’s lap when a young woman, dressed as an elf, stood in their way.
‘Which package will you be buying today?’ asked the elf.
‘I was thinking of buying a package of fudge from the department store,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Why do you ask? I don’t see that it is any of your business.’
‘No, I mean which package of photographs?’ continued the elf as she held up a board displaying a variety of photography packages. ‘You can get the Rudolph Package with one 8 by 10, six 2 by 3s, a key ring and a snow dome; the Dasher Package with two 8 by 10s, four fridge magnets and a light-up picture frame; or the Blitzen Package with five 8 by 10s, seven key rings, three fridge magnets and a bag of reindeer feed.’
‘I just want one photograph,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘You can only buy individual photographs with a package,’ said the elf.
Nanny Piggins’ eyebrows began to lower in suspicion. ‘How much are these packages of which you speak?’
‘The Rudolph is $39, the Dasher is $49 and the Blitzen is $69, and for an additional $5 you can have 10 calendar bookmarks thrown in with any package,’ said the elf happily.
‘$39 for one photograph – that is outrageous!’ declared Nanny Piggins.
‘I knew this was going to be good,’ said Michael happily.
‘But you don’t just get one photograph,’ protested the elf.
‘But I don’t want the other rubbish,’ declared Nanny Piggins. ‘I only want one photograph.’
‘You can only buy an individual photograph in combination with a package,’ said the elf once more.
‘I heard you say that the first time,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘You have not seen me get hit in the head in the interim, have you? So I don’t see why you would think I had come down with amnesia.’
‘These are our prices,’ said the elf, her fixed smile starting to sag at the edges.
‘Never mind,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Luckily I have a camera in my handbag. I was planning to take a photograph of the baker’s chocolate éclairs so I could show it to Hans and we could have a good laugh about it later. But I suppose I shall have to take the photograph myself.’
‘You can’t,’ said the elf. ‘That’s not the way it works. You have to buy a package.’
‘I have to, do I?’ said Nanny Piggins, starting to sound menacing.
‘You’re going to wish you hadn’t said that,’ warned Derrick.
‘Nanny Piggins doesn’t like being told she has to do something,’ added Samantha.
‘If you aren’t going to buy a package, I am going to have to ask you to step out of the queue. You are holding everybody up,’ said the elf, starting to sound less festive and more like a school prefect.
‘Are you going to make me?’ said Nanny Piggins, starting to glower.
‘I bet Nanny Piggins is wearing her hot-pink wrestling leotard under her dress,’ said Michael happily.
‘Of course,’ said Boris. ‘She always does when she goes anywhere with security guards.’
‘Those are the rules,’ said the elf sternly.
‘I can understand that prisons and places even worse than prisons, such as schools, have rules,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘but are you telling me there are rules in Santa’s grotto?’
‘There certainly are,’ said the impertinent elf, before turning to the other elf operating the camera. ‘Lisa, could you please call security?’
‘It must be a proud day for you as a representative of the elfin people, when you have three innocent children thrown out of Santa’s grotto and onto the street,’ accused Nanny Piggins.
‘I think she’d only throw us back on the shopping centre forecourt,’ said Derrick reasonably.
But Nanny Piggins was not in the mood to be reasonable.
‘I can see security approaching,’ said the elf. ‘Please don’t make a scene. You will scare the other children.’
‘Children,’ said Nanny Piggins, turning to the other children in the queue. ‘You aren’t so weak-willed that you will be alarmed by the sight of an exquisitely dressed pig wrestling with a burly security guard, are you?’
‘No,’ chorused the children in the queue. They had all fallen in love with Nanny Piggins during the long wait because, apart from the cockroach races, she had also handed out chocolates and told long and outrageous stories about her days in the circus.
‘I thought so,’ said Nanny Piggins, turning back on the elf. ‘You can’t make children stand in a queue for half an hour and expect them to be on your side of the argument. And you, Santa,’ Nanny Piggins called over the elf’s shoulder, which was not easy because Nanny Piggins was only four feet tall whereas the elf was five feet ten, ‘you should be ashamed of yourself – for gouging children with your excessive photo prices!’
There was another loud cheer behind Nanny Piggins, but this time from the mothers who were fed up having to spend such a large portion of their Christmas budget on stilted photographs of their children struggling to hold back tears as they endured being in close proximity to a holiday icon.
‘How dare you overcharge for your shoddy photographs!’ continued Nanny Piggins. ‘We all know children don’t even like having their photo taken with you because half of them spend the whole time screaming.’
‘It’s true,’ said Lisa, the elf who took the photographs. She had only been in the job for four days but through the lens she had watched many terrified children begging to be taken away from the terrifying red-suited stranger. She was seriously considering whether $15 an hour was worth witnessing such inhumanity all day long.
‘You sit there in judgement deciding whether children are naughty or nice,’ accused Nanny Piggins. ‘Well, I say that you, sir, are the “not nice” one to behave in such an outrageously capitalist fashion.’
There was now an even louder cheer and some applause behind Nanny Piggins as more shoppers had stopped to watch the spectacle.
‘Ho, ho, ho, Merrrry Christmas!’ said Santa, misunderstanding why everyone was cheering.
‘Plus Christmas is only seven days away. Don’t you have work you should be doing?’ demanded Nanny Piggins. ‘How can you justify gadding about here, overcharging children for snapshots while your poor elves back at the North Pole slave away making toys for the 1.7 billion children who live on this planet?’
‘What did she say?’ asked Santa. (He was a little hard of hearing, probably because of all the beard hair blocking his ears.)
‘What’s going on here then,’ asked the senior security guard as he arrived at the entrance to the grotto.
‘It’s her,’ declared the elf, pointing accusingly at Nanny Piggins. ‘This pig is creating a disturbance.’
‘Pig?’ asked the security guard as he made his way through the tightly packed crowd of disaffected photography clients. When he got to the front he saw Nanny Piggins for the first time. ‘Nanny Piggins, you’re back. How are you?’
‘Stephen, how lovely to see you, darling,’ said Nanny Piggins as she held out her trotter and allowed him to kiss it.
‘You’ve stayed away too long,’ said the security guard, waggling his finger at Nanny Piggins. ‘It’s months since I’ve had to throw you out.’
‘I know,’ agreed Nanny Piggins. ‘I would come more often if your baker would sharpen up his ideas about how to make choux pastry.’
‘So, how are we going to handle this?’ asked Stephen the security guard. ‘May I escort you to the bus stop or do you want to wrestle a bit first? I have to say I’d prefer not to do any wrestling today. I strained my back yesterday dragging a bear out of the honey aisle of the supermarket.’
Nanny Piggins turned on her brother. ‘Boris, you didn’t tell me you came to the shopping centre yesterday.’
‘I was ashamed,’ said Boris.
‘About being dragged out of the honey aisle for creating a disturbance?’ guessed Derrick.
‘No, I forgot to pick up some free samples from the bakery for Nanny Piggins,’ confessed Boris.
‘I forgive you,’ said Nanny Piggins kindly as she gave her brother an affectionate hug. ‘I know honey makes you brain-addled. It is the bees’ fault for making their regurgitation so delicious. All right, Stephen,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Today I shall agree to be escorted, provided that means I get a ride on your electric golf cart.’
‘Of course,’ said Stephen the security guard, offering Nanny Piggins his arm. ‘I may only be a security guard at a mall, but I know how to treat a lady.’
The crowd parted as Nanny Piggins was led away. But before she stepped out of the grotto Nanny Piggins turned back to address the elf. ‘Don’t think you have evaded my wrath. I may be making a strategic retreat now for the sake of Stephen’s bad back, but I fully intend to return and crush your seasonal money-gouging operation.’
‘Are you threatening me?’ accused the elf.
‘Yes, I am. I’m glad you caught on so quickly,’ said Nanny Piggins, before leaning round the elf to address Santa as well. ‘And don’t think I’m letting you off just because you’re old and you give out toys. I’m busting up this racket of yours and sending you back to the North Pole where you can concentrate on making toys and spending the holiday season with your wife like you should.’
The crowd cheered.
‘Anyone who wants to have a good Santa photo taken,’ announced Nanny Piggins, ‘can meet me in the car park at 10 am tomorrow morning and, unlike a certain weak-bladdered old man, when I say I will be there at ten o’clock I will be there at ten o’clock, and there will be no excuses about “feeding reindeer”.’
And so the following morning Nanny Piggins set up a photography studio in the car park of the shopping centre. Then she had to move it across the street to a vacant lot, when Stephen the security guard was sent out to throw her off the premises.
Regardless of the weeds, empty tin cans and general waste strewn about, Nanny Piggins’ Santa Photography Business was soon a roaring success. For a start she was much more photogenic than an elderly overweight man in a Santa suit. She had her suit fitted and tailored by one of the finest fashion designers in Milan. (He owed Nanny Piggins a favour after she bit his mother-in-law on the leg for him once.) And Nanny Piggins had a much more creative flare for photography than the 23-year-old university students the shopping centre had hired cheaply. There is a lot more to photography than knowing how to point and focus a camera.
First of all, never underestimate the importance of good lighting. The brighter the light, the less blotchy or wrinkly people appear. As Nanny Piggins said, ‘If the Queen of England were to have her photo taken standing five metres away from the glare of a super-nova, even she would look like the beautiful young woman who first appeared on the back of a coin in 1956.’
The next most important thing is choosing the right pose. When it comes down to it, sitting on someone’s lap is a very odd decision indeed. ‘Encouraging children to sit on a strange man’s lap just because he breaks into their house once a year and gives them presents is a very inappropriate message to send to children,’ said Nanny Piggins.
Nanny Piggins’ Santa photos were much more dramatic. Children could choose between wrestling with Santa (her personal favourite – she’d had a bright red, fur-trimmed wrestling leotard made up specially), being attacked by ninjas while reading your present list to Santa, helping Santa deactivate a nuclear bomb, or trying to outrun Santa as you are attacked by a bear (Boris). All the alternatives were very popular with children. Indeed, several came back to pose for one of each. One three-year-old girl enjoyed being attacked by Boris so much she kept giggling and trying to hug him, which, of course, he enjoyed tremendously as well.
Nanny Piggins soon had a huge queue of customers lining up around the block. And not just because they wanted to have their photograph taken. The customers actually enjoyed waiting in line because Nanny Piggins provided unlimited supplies of cake and hot chocolate, and every fifteen minutes she and Boris would stop taking photos to perform a two-minute version of the Nutcracker ballet, with added violence so boys could enjoy it too.
By two o’clock in the afternoon the general manager of the shopping centre had come across the road with the impertinent elf and Stephen the security guard to talk to Nanny Piggins. Naturally Nanny Piggins made them join the end of the line and pay for a photograph. (She only charged $1 per photo. She made no profit, but only needed to cover the price of the cake ingredients.)
‘Please, you have to put an end to this,’ pleaded the manager as the camera flash went off and he wrestled with Nanny Piggins. (Normally she just pretended to wrestle with the children, but she was really twisting the manager into a cobra lock.)
‘Why should I?’ asked Nanny Piggins, yanking his arm around behind his ear and jabbing her trotter in a painful pressure point. ‘It’s not my fault I am brilliant at photography and much better at being Santa than Santa himself.’
‘But there’s nobody in the shopping centre,’ said the manager. ‘Think of all the shopkeepers who aren’t making any money.’
‘Pish!’ scoffed Nanny Piggins. ‘Christmas shouldn’t be about making money. It should be about overeating and judging people when they give you unpleasant presents such as underwear or books.’
‘But if the shopkeepers don’t make any money they won’t be able to support their families,’ argued the manager.
‘Piffle,’ countered Nanny Piggins. ‘Marjorie from the sock shop has come over to have her photo taken three times already, although I think that’s mainly because she likes my lemon tarts. And everybody from the sports shoe shop came over and had a group photo of me rescuing them from Boris.’
‘Please,’ begged the manager. ‘What can I do to persuade you to stop luring all our customers away from the shopping centre?’
‘If I may, sir,’ interrupted Stephen the security guard. ‘Could I negotiate on your behalf?’
‘Please do,’ sobbed the manager.
‘Nanny Piggins, you look fabulous today,’ said Stephen. He knew how to begin a negotiation.
‘Thank you,’ said Nanny Piggins. She could not fault him, he was entirely right.
‘Would you please be so kind as to shut down your photography studio, come back to the shopping centre and train our elves how to take spectacular action photos at reasonable prices that everyone can enjoy?’ asked Stephen.
‘Why on earth would I do that?’ asked Nanny Piggins.
Stephen turned to his manager. ‘Do I have permission to offer her anything?’ he asked.
‘Yes, yes of course,’ said the manager, dabbing his brow. ‘Anything to make this end.’
Stephen turned back to Nanny Piggins. ‘You can have as many free samples from the free sample box on the bakery counter as you like.’
There was silence from the crowd as everyone simultaneously gasped, then waited to see what Nanny Piggins would say.
‘Will I get a little laminated card to carry in my handbag, certifying this?’ Nanny Piggins asked.
‘Your photograph will be in the corner and the card will be signed by the centre manager himself,’ said Stephen.
‘It will?’ asked the manager. ‘I mean, it will, it will.’
‘Can I take my own photograph?’ asked Nanny Piggins.
‘Yes,’ said Stephen.
‘Then you’ve got a deal!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins.
‘Hurray!’ cried the crowd, who knew they really should be getting back to their Christmas shopping.
‘Thank goodness,’ said the manager as he shook Nanny Piggins’ hand. ‘I was worried we’d have to pay you thousands of dollars to make this stop.’
‘My dear man,’ said Nanny Piggins ruthlessly. ‘If you think thousands of dollars is more than it would cost to buy me an unlimited amount of cake samples, you are about to discover that you are sadly mistaken.’
And so, after consuming an alarming amount of sub-standard cake, Nanny Piggins set to work teaching the elves how to take real photos. She also gave Santa a short sharp bite on the shin to punish him for his price gouging. Then, to teach him a lesson, made him pay $39 for the honour of having his picture taken with her.
‘I want you to put that on your mantelpiece when you get home, Santa,’ said Nanny Piggins sternly, ‘to remind you that it is all very well to sit in judgement over the children of the world, deciding whether they are naughty or nice, but it is important that you should be a good boy too.’
‘Yes, Nanny Piggins,’ said Santa humbly. He did not really understand what had taken place in the previous 24 hours but, just as he knew when he met Mrs Claus for the first time, Santa realised he had met his match.
Christmas is a wonderful time of year. But sometimes your friends and family can be less than wonderful (perhaps due to a shortage of chocolate in their diet) and they will get you unfortunate presents such as underwear that doesn’t fit, books you’ve already read, handkerchiefs that look like they’ve already been used or cash from a now defunct country. In these instances, do not despair. You can still gain some pleasure from your presents by playing Lava Floor.
Lava Floor is an excellent game where you pretend that the entire floor of your house is made of incredibly hot molten rock, bubbling out of the earth’s crust. And if you accidentally touch it with the smallest part of your pinkie toe your whole leg will go up in flames and you will die instantly.
However, anything that is on the floor is a safe island that you can stand on, protected from the lava, which is where your awful presents come in. Scatter your unwanted gifts liberally about the floor. Now anyone who is standing on a gift is safe. Anyone who touches the carpet is dead. And to make it really fun, you can push people off the gifts to a painful fiery demise. To start, simply shout ‘Go!’, then run around screaming while trying to push people into the lava and avoiding being shoved into the lethal magma yourself.
The game isn’t just a fun way to while away the afternoon with friends. It is also a cathartic way to get some use out of your more ill-considered presents.
(NB. This game does not go down well in the Roman city of Vesuvius. If you are holidaying there, stick to Scrabble.)
When I was a little piglet, my wicked sister Wendy told me that the mince in mince pies was made of squashed flies. I will admit this did deter me at first, but upon trying my first mince pie, I decided that I was prepared to eat dead insects so I could enjoy this wonderful seasonal treat. But when I discovered that my sister had been lying and that the mince was actually made from something much more horrifying – fruit – I was astounded! How could something that tasted so good contain something so healthy? I can only assume that the liberal amounts of butter in the pastry, and sugar in the mince, somehow counteract the healthy benefits of the filling. Here is my recipe . . .
1 tablespoon icing sugar
225 grams self-raising flour
a pinch of salt
110 grams butter
a little cold water
1 jar of fruit mince
1. Use your hands to rub the butter, self-raising flour, salt and icing sugar together until you get a mixture that is like breadcrumbs.
2. Add a little water to bind the mixture into a dough, then knead until smooth.
3. Roll out the dough on a floured surface.
4. Use a round cookie cutter to cut out circles, then press these circles into a mince pie (or cupcake) tray.
5. Fill the pastry casings with fruit mince (not dead flies).
6. Then use a star-shaped cookie cutter to cut out the pastry lids. You can use a round cutter if you like. But I like to use stars so you can see the mince poking through. Plus you get a better pastry-to-fruit mince ratio.
7. Bake in the oven at 200°C for about 25 minutes, or until the pastry goes a light golden brown.
8. Remove from the oven and put on a cooling rack.
And remember:
Normally I am a big believer in gobbling baked goods the second they come out of the oven, but you must never do this with mince pies. The fruit mince is basically boiling sticky sugar syrup, bubbling away at 200°C. So if you put it straight in your mouth, not only will it burn you, it will stick to your tongue as you run around the kitchen squealing ‘Ow OOOW! Mmm yum. Ow OWIE!!!’
9. Once cooled, eat and enjoy.
(NB. One of the benefits of the star-shaped lids is that they are easy to pry off, so you can tuck a spoonful of cream or ice-cream underneath for added deliciousness.)
These mince pies are extremely tasty, so feel free to tell your friends and family that they are full of dead flies. You’ll get to keep more for yourself that way.
