My uncle had the fight of his life trying to get free from the crazy lunatic, when his assailant let him go, brushed himself down and apologised, saying: 'Sorry mate I thought you were someone else!'
'That's okay... I think...' my uncle replied.
He was still lying on the ground, bruised and battered. The lunatic had the decency to give him a hand up.
The lunatic introduced himself.
'My name is Banksy,' he said. 'So what do they call you stranger?'
Clyde told him his name.
'Yeah! I recognise you! You're the cleaner in that shop right?'
'Yes I am a cleaner,' my uncle replied.
'Don't suppose you can put a good word in for me with your boss and get me a discount on any of the food - or anything?'
'I don't think I can do that!'
Banksy laughed and slapped my uncle on the shoulder as if they were old friends or something! 'Just joking mate,' he said. 'I like to have a laugh with people that's all!'
'Well okay I had better get going then...'
My uncle was desperate to slip away - but it wasn't going to happen that day!
'Hey what's wrong you?' said Banksy stopping my uncle in his tracks. 'Getting all funny with me? I thought we were mates!'
'Look here son I have never met you before!'
'Well that's nice,' said Banksy. 'I give you a hand up, treat you like a mate and in return you brush me off like I was some kind of dog in the street! Well that's nice! And where's your Christmas spirit? Eh? Don't bother mate don't bother! I know when I am not wanted! I am going to go now but I will remember you! Clyde! This isn't over.'
After that Banksy walked away, and with a sigh of relief, my uncle returned home
Who was that guy?
He was mad!
Back home Clyde made himself a nice cup of teas and went to bed.
When the morning came round he was back at work again, with his bucket and mop, doing the job he loved so much.
Clyde was just wrapping up his morning shift, when he heard a voice he hoped never to hear ever again!
'Alright mate!'
It was Banksy!
He was back!
Clyde's spirits fell right down to the bottom of his tatty boots.
O no!
What could that lunatic want this time?
Banksy walked right up to Clyde and started shaking his hand. 'Good to see you again buddy,' he said. 'And how are you doing my old mate?'
'I am doing my job.'
'And so am I,' said Banksy. 'You stay there and I will speak to you in a minute.'
Banksy vanished into a cloakroom and reemerged wearing a red suit and a fake white beard...
Clyde couldn't believe it...
Banksy was plying Father Christmas that year in the shop!
Clyde couldn't get his head round it!
Of all people why had his manager chosen to employ such as crazy lunatic to play Father Christmas?
'Ho ho ho and all that rubbish!' said Banksy laughing and shaking Clyde about. 'This is such a wonderful time of year!'
'Is it?'
'Hey! I'll have less of that miserable attitude from you mate! This is the season to be jolly remember!'
'If you say so...'
'Look Clyde I don't suppose you could do me a favour?'
Clyde wasn't given the chance to respond - but all the time he was thinking "I hardly know the man and he expects a favour out of me?"
'I don't suppose you could take over my shift?'
'I beg your pardon?'
Banksy explained that he had a bad back. 'I don't think I can do Father Christmas today,' he said. 'But you could. I will fetch one of my spare Santa uniforms and we'll get you suited up and ready for business.'
'I don't think so!'
'You're not even going to think about it?'
'No! I'm not! Damn! I'm still working!'
Banksy was furious!
You could see it in his eyes!
'Well ain't that nice?' he shouted. 'Here I am, a good mate who needs a little help, you turn him down at his hour of need.'
'I hardly know you Banksy. I only met you yesterday, after you attacked me for no reason!'
'I didn't attack you I was just messing around. You're too sensitive that's your problem mate! Now are you going to help me or not?'
'No!' and Clyde took his bucket and mop and walked away.
Clyde needed a break.
He made his way over to the coffee shop but before he could reach the counter or even grab any change out of his pocket, Father Christmas himself came bounding over several tables towards him, dragging this green sack behind him.
'Excuse me Excuse me!' he was saying as he was pushing people aside.
He stopped when he got to Clyde and broke the souls of many onlooking children by taking his beard off so he could talk.
It was Banksy of course.
He pulled another Santa costume out of the sack.
'Go on mate!' he said to Clyde. 'Be a sport and put this on!'
Clyde was incensed with the strange man at this point.
What was wrong the guy?
Could he be raving mad?
But Clyde was determined to hold his ground against the boisterous beast. 'Look!' he said. 'I am not dressing up as Santa not even if you paid me!'
'Okay!' said Banksy. 'I'll put it in another way. If you don't dress up as Santa and take over my shift I'll beat you up!'
'Are you being serious?'
'Serious is as serious does!'
'You're threatening to attack me? That's a criminal offence.'
'Not if I take you out in the middle of a back alley where no ones watching. Then it will be my word against yours.'
'You're mad!'
'Not yet! But I will be unless you put this costume on!'
Clyde couldn't take it anymore!
Pushing the lunatic aside he made a run for it!
He left the building and ran and ran!
He could hear footsteps echoing in the street behind him!
He dared to look back!
And there was Banksy hot on his trial.
'I am going to beat the living daylights out of you boy!' he was shouting.
Clyde ran and ran, his legs going like a pair of crazy clappers dancing in a musical play!
He had to get away!
But Banksy was the faster man out of the two, and before long Clyde had this crazy Father Christmas bearing down on top of him and finally grappling him down to the ground!
'Okay you lunatic I will put the damn costume on!'
Clyde had given in...
He had no choice.
He would do anything, ANYTHING just to make the crazy man go away.
So Clyde returned to work buckled up as Santa.
It must have looked strange, Santa going about with a bucket and a mop, but that's how it was.
'Only a few more hours and I will be free,' thought my uncle. 'I'll just give this floor another going over and...'
Out of nowhere two stocky people appeared in his view, and standing side by side their used their great frames to block the corridor off.
Who were these two horrs? And they looked like they meant business!
'You're coming with us Banksy,' said the one who must have been the leader. 'You owe us big time, and you are going to pay up, no matter what it takes!'
Clyde had to make a stand at this point.
This nonsense had to stop!
'Now look I'm not Banksy. But I do know the guy you're looking forward and I can show you where to find him.'
'We've heard all before Banksy,' replied the tough looking guy. 'We're running out of patience with your lies and excuses. We're taking you in now and we're going to finish this our way.'
There was to be no reasoning with these two...
Clyde could see this...
So he did the only thing he could do.
RUN.
He made for the cloakroom. Luckily there was a window just about large enough for him to fit through. Then when he was in the streets he ran like a mad hair with a couple of hungry weasels on his tail!
It must of been a sad sight for all the children looking in on the scene, as their hero Santa ran by, without saying a word, with two tough-nut thugs hot on his trail and hurling insults after him.
Clyde wasn't able to lose the thugs; no matter what alley he turned they were also there in his shadow.
Clyde thought the nightmare was going to go on forever!
Then he heard a little voice whisper in the corner, 'This way my friend!'
Clyde followed the voice.
Finally he came to and saw a tall man standing at a dead end of a street.
He was indeed a very tall man, tall and thin, but he was also hunched and his ugly thin face was dressed in a tatty old beard.
He was holding a sack open in his clawed maw and gesturing it to Clyde.
'Hey son!' he said. 'Jump into this sack and you'll be safe!'
'No way!' Clyde cried. 'I don't even know who you are?'
'Do you believe in elves?' said the strange tall hunched man.
Clyde replied saying that he did not ever believe in elves.
'I am going to give you a nice little Christmas wish,' said the tall hunched man. 'Climb into this sack here and I will save you from those nasty thugs that are after you!'
Clyde was loath to do it - but the two thugs were only a few minutes away, and he knew he had no choice.
So he unwillingly trusted the words of the old crooked man, and stepped into the sack!
'You won't regret this!' said the tall hunched man.
As soon as Clyde entered the sack something truly strange happened.
Something so strange it was mystifying!
Passing through the stringy texture of the sack my uncle found a door, which he took the handle of and turned, and he ended up entering a beautiful house!
O it was marvellous!
Like something truly out of a dream!
The living room was beautifully decorated and full of Christmas warmth.
There was a great hearthstone full of a great golden glow of a mighty fire, and its dancing yellow arms cast their light on a great table which was covered in a gorgeous feast!
'How did I get here?' and Clyde had the right to be confused and amazed - for it wall such an astonishing thing to see and accept.
The tall crooked man stepped in through the same door behind Clyde.
He slapped Clyde on the shoulder and smiled. 'This is Elf magic!'
Elf magic?
'I am an elf, you see. A real elf. I guess you thought elves were like little pixie things that squeak and scuttle about the place. O no! Elves look like this, tall, and hunched, and dressed in dark rags with hedge-like beards full of moss and twigs. We carry frogs in our pockets and wear damp shoes and never wash, for we love to smell of the earth!' And the elf shoved his armpits in Clyde's face so that Clyde got a good blast of the elves disgusting body odour.
'Smell my magical breath!' said the elf, and then the thin crooked man breathed freely and heavily into Clyde's face, making the poor man almost pass out with pure disgust!'
'I am a true elf,' the elf went on. 'An elf of magic!'
'Well thank you for saving me,' said Clyde. 'I better get home now.'
'What about the feast?'
Yes.
It did look rather nice.
'Well I suppose I could stay for a bit,' said Clyde, puckering up at the sight of all the lovely mouth watering food.
'Take a good look because you aren't having any of it!' said the elf. 'You owe me for saving your life!'
'Owe you? You can't be serious!'
'Seriously serious!' the elf replied in a crafty but very jolly voice. 'Your gonna spend the day mucking out the reindeer! Now! Here's a bucket and a broom! Get to it!'
So Clyde spent the day out in the cold, tidying up after the beasts...
And my! A dirtier bunch of reindeer you never did see!
Covered in muck, the brutes!
But o well - it was Christmas, and Clyde tried to be jolly about it, and contended himself by looking through the window of the beautiful house, at the feast that the elf gorged on all by himself!
Imagining what the feast tasted like was almost as much fun as actually eating it!
In fact, my uncle thought to himself, the thought of eating the feast in his imagination was better than reality!
Because at least he wasn't going to put any weight on!
Merry Christmas!
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