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The angel on the Christmas tree16 December 2009It's only a few days before Christmas; so forget for a moment the trials and tribulations of trying to do business in these troubled times, and let's sit back and allow PSB columnist, Barry Rendell to regale us with one of his festive tales;..
Besides introducing us Brits to the dubious delights of dumpy, frumpy women, Prince Albert also introduced us to his mate Santa Claus. To begin with, we were just the tiniest bit sceptical about the idea of some fat bloke in a red tunic riding round the sky on a magic sleigh randomly popping down chimneys to deliver toys. But we quickly got into the spirit of the thing and soon he was welcomed everywhere.
Every year children would send a list of the toys they wanted to the North Pole keeping Santa's little Elves busy making them all year long. At first, the toys children wanted were simple but this changed as technology progressed and production of the clever electronic stuff was way beyond the capability of a few Elves with simple toy making skills. So Santa had to resort to buying-in the high tech stuff and went from a production facility to a distribution business.
This left the Elves largely unemployed and very much at a loose end so they filled their days teasing the reindeer, moaning because they were bored, and getting up to all sorts of mischief. Eventually Santa could stand it no more and looked around for something to keep the Elves busy and after a bit of market research hit upon the idea of a panel building operation.
All went well for a long time but, slowly, globalisation in the manufacturing industry, ever rising costs, long lead times and just-in-time deliveries made production scheduling a nerve wracking process - especially when it snowed heavily at the North Pole and transport became a major headache. Add to this the fact that panels were demanded within impossible time scales at ruinous prices and Clients were becoming more litigious every year.
It took all of the fun out of Santa's life and the constant pressure to produce made him grumpy and the Elves sullen and resentful. Panel building was not such a good wheeze after all he thought. Every day became more of a pain in Santa's backside and this day in particular was turning out to be an absolute cow, seriously doing Santa's head in.
To start Santa's day off Mrs Claus announced she was having her mother to stay for a month over Christmas. Oh joy! Four weeks of the sour faced, acid tongued old hag telling anyone who would listen that her daughter could have done better than a has-been toy maker.
The Elves were late starting and eventually turned up very much the worse for wear, having been out partying most of the night. Another day of bitching and slow, shoddy work to look forward to. Marvellous!
The mechanic brought back the sleigh, which had been for its annual service: "Failed the MOT and needs major repairs. A new one would be cheaper, guv". This was not what Santa wanted to hear. The wholesaler was next. The parts promised for delivery today were actually still in China and delivery would now be after Christmas. Could things get any worse?.
Oh yes, to cap it all a heavy handed, and ever so slightly hung-over Elf, Clumsy, the last person anyone would let loose on machinery, broke the pillar drill. No more busbar drilling today. Santa was a seriously unhappy bunny. The last thing he needed was the Client call requesting early delivery of a panel that was still in the workshop and miles behind programme.
Now in a thoroughly foul mood Santa called a meeting and demanded the Elves extract the digit and work overtime to complete the order. Their refusal to spend good partying time working sent him into an uncontrollable rage and after a tirade of intemperate language and threats of the sack, the Elves gave him some stick back and stormed off to the pub.
After he had cooled down a bit, Santa went looking for the Elves expecting to do a deal and cough up a little extra cash to get the job finished. But he found them three sheets to the wind and in no condition to work, let alone talk deals. To hack him off even more, the Elves had opened the gate to the reindeer pen and the animals were now scattered all over the North Pole. It would take hours to round them up again.
Back in the workshop, Santa made himself a cup of tea and managed to knock it over, soaking the papers on his desk. The computer blew up because some of the spilt tea had gotten into it and the repair man could not come until next week. The day just got better and better. Then, just as Santa teetered on the edge of apoplexy, there came a knock on the workshop door.
With steam coming out of his ears, Santa threw open the door ready to let rip at the visitor but was confronted by little Angel, the woodsman's daughter, holding a rather magnificent fir tree. "Hello Santa," she said in angelic tones. "My daddy asked me to bring you and the Elves this lovely tree to decorate and enjoy at Christmas. Where would you like me to stick it?"
And that, dear readers, is how the tradition of the little Angel on top of the Christmas tree began - perhaps.
Barry Rendell
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