I fixed Christmas

For the last three years I have been promising to give my friend Kerry a musical, mobile Father Christmas of some stature that I bought in the nineties. It stands about three-foot tall, is resplendent in a violent red outfit with a golden waistband. He holds a lantern that lights up rolls his head, waves his arms and plays several Christmas songs all at the same time. He has been unwanted since the kids left home and has spent the time since in a dark cupboard under other junk.

I dug him out last night only to find that he was broken, the arm carrying the lantern had come away from the body and his sleeve was torn. Nothing for it then I had to get the needle and cotton out, not to mention the pliers and screwdriver (its hard to get hold of red cotton these days, tomatoes have complained that its racist). I had to undress the old guy to get at the inner workings which were made of plastic and contained the motor that drives the head and arms.

Bereft of clothes, there stood a podgy little figure made of grey plastic and wearing black boots, on his back were the words Made in Taiwan, I wasn’t impressed, but as they say if it can be built, it can be fixed. I set about extracting his innards; the repair wasn’t difficult, just awkward. The battery box was next, and as the old batteries had corroded, the contacts had to be cleaned which meant splitting the box to get at them.

Inside was a folded piece of paper on which was written the words “ is me am working in herr is swet shop mum dont now dad dont now help help very big pleas telefown me” There was a series of numbers but chemicals from the corroded batteries had obliterated them.

Given that this had probably been written anything up to eighteen years ago, it crossed my mind that had I read it when I had first bought the thing, what if anything would I have done about it? Informed the authorities? Contacted a human rights society? Or would I have rang the number to find out what was going on. Trouble is I was concerned that the helpless little sweatshop worker had access to a phone, call me cagey, but it happens all the time now, never a day goes by without the arrival of an email pleading for money. Perhaps I’m just a cynic.

The fixed Father Christmas was delivered to Kerry this morning and right pleased she was with it too, I didn’t stay long, I thought it best to get away before it fell apart again…. Merry Christmas everyone.