Secret Service Santa Stuff VIII

Yet another letter thanking Santa, written by a celebrity chef rendered anonymous. And I am willing to bet that it has the best pun on the words of a 15th century French poet that you have read all day. The worst too.

Dear Santa,

At this time of year with the last sad leaf clutching the rimed twigs I love to remember Christmases past as I look upon my little garden that produces miraculous quantities of different vegetables. Our quick lunch was Caramac, my favourite comfort food at this time of year, and those oh so 1970s tinned peas I still secretly adore. They are my favourite comfort food, the label promising the scents of summers long gone. We finished with some cheese from a shop that at this time of year only sells to you if you provide references. Cheese at this time of year is my favourite comfort food, especially on mashed potatoes. Mash is my favourite. Comfort food. Thanks for the hair-trimmers, their steely blades catching the glint of the sun. Low. In the sky. At this time of year I really needed them. I peeked coyly through my fringe and the frost bedecked window when you visited, but your reindeer no longer make a sound as they did in my childhood. Où sont les neighs d’antan? Reindeer are my favourite comfort food. At this time of year.

Yours ever,