A Loch Ness Cokemas
Father Christmas rubbed his head in frustration. What could he do this year to surpass the last two Christmases on Earth?
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As an Angel of the Fun Fraternity, he spent most of the year at the tourist resorts of the vast heavenly realms – in return for one month of work each December. Due to the intricacies of time travel, he could travel the whole world six times over on Christmas Eve night, the hardest working eve of the year. However, his job was not all bad. In terms of job satisfaction, it could not be surpassed: the smile on a child’s face on Christmas morning, real angel blessings the world over. Yes, he was thankful for his lot. Would he ever retire? Not while coca cola could only be enjoyed on Earth. (It was a condition of his employment that he brought no Earth delights back to the pure angelic realms.)
Father Christmas based himself in a different country each year, somewhere coca cola and McDonalds were both on offer. This year, snowy Scotland was his destination, a perfect land in which to consume unending earthly indulgences. And nowhere better than Inverness, a truly Scottish city with rustic charm and artisan architecture. The River Ness snaked through the town like a gateway to an underworld, an icy monster that breathed beauty and a song of the city soul.
So on a chill December evening, Father Christmas relaxed on the banks of Loch Ness, drinking a can of coke. Bliss played with his brain. This was the life.
He closed his eyes, and murmured a special angel prayer for the makers of coca cola. Delivering gifts to all the children of the world was no mean feat, he deserved his little indulgence.
A shadow passed behind him. Santa opened his eyes, alert. “Who goes there?”
“I am neither here or there.” A shadow carefully placed itself next to him, smoothing down his see through kilt. “I am nothing but a ghost, a memory of Christmases long gone that will never return again.”
“So despondent at this joyful time of the year!” chided Santa. “Do you know who I am?”
“I do, and you may think you love this planet but you weren’t there. The day we all died, us Jacobites in the Battle of Culloden not too far from here. No angels came to save us. We were decimated it seemed by the devil itself. Tell me, what is the point of love and giving at Christmas, when humans are so terrible every other day of the year? All we wanted was a better future for Scotland, a land where every child’s Christmas wish really could come true. However our children’s hearts were broken that fateful day, 16 April 1746.”
“Well, my contract of services states that I only visit Earth during December,” began Father Christmas feebly. Then he looked in earnest at the stray soul next to him, and read the pulsing pain in his ghostly eyes. “But as I get older, you know what, who cares? Let’s break a few rules. 1746 you say? Did you know that I can time travel in my sleigh?”
The ghost regarded Father Christmas, as a light of hope ignited in his eyes.
And so it came to pass, that on the 16 April 1746, hundreds of wearied and hungry Scottish soldiers arrived at Culloden moor, the spirit of Scotland strong in their hearts. In the middle of the moor stood a large fat white haired man in a red suit, with a sleigh and reindeer behind him. Uncertainly, the men advanced. Was this an English trap?
The strange man jumped in to his sleigh, which quickly became airborne. High above, the red sleigh flew round them, as the landscape suddenly changed, heather replacing grass and an odd stone building appearing in the near distance.
Little did they know, the Jacobite soldiers had time travelled to the year 2022.
Children jumped up and down with excitement in the Culloden Visitor Centre. “Dad, look, are they actors or are they real?”
The Visitor Centre staff were confused. The words on the visitor centre walls changed in front of their eyes. “The Culloden Bermuda Triangle!” screamed one poster. “The mystery of the vanishing army.”
The team leader rubbed her head, of course the Jacobite army had disappeared. Where did this memory of a dramatic Jacobite defeat come from? It was the biggest mystery of all time, the disappearing soldiers. Why did the memory feel new, like clothes deliberately ripped to look old?
The men on the moor were bewildered. What had happened? Had the English army carried out some magic devilry to confuse them?
Worlwide media exploded. “Long lost army home in time for Christmas.” “Jacobites back from the dead in time for the next Scottish Independence Referendum.” “Jacobite Rebellion Against the Laws of Physics.” “Jacobite Hopefuls to Play the World Cup.” “A Time Travel Gift from a Deranged Scottish Nationalist Scientist.”
As for Father Christmas, he retreated back to the banks of Loch Ness, watching the stars and sipping coke. This was the life.
The loch waters tossed and turned before him like an insomniac on too much Weetabix. Then it rose from the deep like an omen of a historic tomorrow, a promise of mystery resolved. Eyes burnt in to Santa’s disbelieving stare. Not much astounded Father Christmas nowadays, but this did.
He was confronted by the Loch Ness Monster.
From one mythic creature to another, Santa bowed his head in humbled acknowledgement.
The dragon-like creature arced its wings and emitted a low whine. Then a scaled paw pointed at Santa’s can of coke.
“Coke?” Santa reached towards the formidable creature, and sprinkled some coke on his paw. The beast licked it furiously.
Santa chuckled. “Tomorrow night? Same time? I need to prepare.”
The following night, Santa arrived pulling behind an old bath and a sack of coke cans. Slowly he poured each can in to the bath, laughing to himself.
The coke-loving monster appeared once more from the deep, fire in its eyes and wisdom in its still stare. Greedily, he lapped up all the coke in the bath.
This really was a special Christmas, ruminated Santa. Whatever would happen next? He must return to visit Inverness again, it seemed to be a place of untapped wonder and mystery that would be mute no more. And coke really was better enjoyed with friends, even the ones no one else believed in.
The Loch Ness monster had finished the coke. He licked his lips in supreme satisfaction.
Then his eyes turned red and he breathed fire. His green scales changed colour, to a rainbow medley of pinks, yellows and blues.
The coke had transformed him
The monster flew in to the sky, soaring above Loch Ness and then flying towards Inverness.
“Well, what do you know,” muttered Santa. “I might just join you.”
So it came to pass that Father Christmas, with his sleigh and reindeer, flew above the Highlands of Scotland, the multi-coloured Loch Ness Monster not far behind.
Enchanted children cried with laughter while concerned parents cringed in disbelieving shock. The photographs went viral. Of course, no one else in the world believed them; Christmas 2022 would retain fame as the year Photoshop fooled the world.
However, the only fools are those who do not believe in the magic of Christmas.
I am glad to report that the Loch Ness monster returned safely to the loch, and the colourful effects of coke had worn off by the next day.
May coke fill your spirit, too, with soft colour healing and may its bubbles deliver you seasonal merriment. And just for Christmas Day, let yourself truly believe in the wonder of winter, and that Christmas wishes really can come true.
Merry Christmas everyone.
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