“My name is Santa... although I respond to the wretched abbreviation of Father Xmas”

Having known young Phillip Adams since the early 1940s, when I delivered presents to his then home (his grandparents’ little farm on the outskirts of Melbourne), I was able to get his agreement to take over this week’s column.

My name is Father Christmas, Santa Claus or simply Santa. I’m also known as St Nicholas, St Nick and Kris Kringle. And I respond, albeit reluctantly, to the wretched abbreviation of Father Xmas. I’ve been around for many centuries and I am, among other things, the Patron Saint of archers, sailors, children and pawnbrokers. Plus the Patron Saint of Amsterdam.

It’s been a rough time in the Christmas business. A few years back your Mr Dutton accused me of being both a smuggler and an illegal immigrant. Though I was flying under the radar, he had me arrested and amused himself by having me incarcerated on Christmas Island, from which I was released only after representations from the Pope and the United Nations. More recently my difficulties have been with three great global crises: US president Donald Trump, Covid-19 and climate change.

Trump had it in for me from the beginning. He saw my red apparel and my close resemblance to Karl Marx as suspicious. Furthermore he regarded my distribution of free gifts to kiddies everywhere as a Bolshevik plot, a seasonal counterpart to Obamacare. Fortunately our mutual friend Vladimir Putin was able to soothe and reassure him. (As you know, my HQ is in a secret location near the North Pole – in a tiny independent nation reminiscent of the Vatican within Italy or your erstwhile Hutt River Province within Western Australia. We are members of the UN General Assembly and are being considered for membership of the EU.)

Because of competition from the disruptive Amazon, our delivery service was under challenge – and then came Covid, followed by an extended lockdown. While most of my elves have had one jab, supplies of vaccine have been limited and we’re not close to being fully inoculated. And, frankly, some of the elves are anti-vaxxers. I insisted on the reindeers being treated with the veterinary drug Ivermectin in case it helped – and it did reduce Rudolph’s nasal swelling. In any case all the deer will be wearing masks, thus hiding the condition.

For a while it looked as though Christmas 2021 would have to be cancelled, or at the very least postponed. However I’ve had long discussions with Qantas’s Alan Joyce, who runs a gift service of his own via frequent flyer points. And it seems that flying might, just might, become more frequent.

With international air travel resuming we hope to restart deliveries on the eve of December 24. But there are many other issues. For example, chimneys are now few and far between and I’m too portly for poky flues. But I hate just leaving prezzos on the doorstep – you’d be astonished to know how many recalcitrants come along and nick things. I must ask Jeff Bezos for advice. (Which reminds me – I must apologise for the reduced choice of presents. We’ve had supply chain problems because of parts needed from China.)

Finally, climate change. It’s not just the polar bears running out of ice. The dramatic increase in polar temperatures has melted the last local glaciers, methane is rising from the thawing tundra, and water is leaking into our workshops. And I’m ashamed to admit we’ve always heated the place with fossil fuel. Happy Christmas.