I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus!

No, you haven't read the title of this blog wrongly. It's true! I saw Daddy kissing Santa Claus! Well it wasn't my Daddy, or anyone's Daddy as far as I know, let me explain.

There are some things in life that no one should have to witness. I'm not talking about war or famine: we all know that those are crimes against humanity, I'm talking about strange things that really affect you. There are things that no rational human being wants to encounter in their daily lives. Like catching your parents in the throes of wild uninhibited sex, or Anne Widdecombe in a bikini, or a Conservative government, these are all things that can wreck your life.

The above title came about a few years ago when my wife and I called to see some friends of ours one New Year's Eve. They were at a party held in a bar in the centre of the town where we live. The bar was a gay bar and well renowned for its outlandish parties, so we knew what to expect. But I wasn't ready for my response to something so mundane.

There was a man dressed as Santa and the make-up and the costume he wore was so good that he really looked like the Coca-Cola Santa that we are all so used to. As he passed our table I remarked on his likeness to the real thing and added maybe I should tell him that I had been a good boy all year (I have said before that I lie) and give him my Christmas present list. I had no sooner said this to one of my friends when Santa bumped into Batman walking in the other direction. They stopped, gave each other meaningful looks then launched into what can only be described as tonsil tennis! I have never seen two people kiss with more lust before or since! No!, No!, No! This was so wrong!

I'm not bothered that it was two men kissing we have lots of friends that are gay, the couple we were in the bar to meet are gay. It was the fact that it was Santa! Everyone knows that Santa doesn't do tonsil tennis! He doesn't do anything with men or women he's asexual - he's not even that, the words "sexual" and "Santa" don't belong in the same sentence! By the way, I do know the truth about Santa, I'm not stupid. I know the man in the shopping arcade is just a bloke dressed up, and the real Santa lives in the North Pole with lots of elves and flying reindeer and other cool shit.

But the sight of these two kissing looked wrong. If they were in their every day clothes, it wouldn't have even warranted a second glance, but the sight of Batman and Santa tying to suck the face off each other was more than I could bear, and  we left the party soon after.

The strange thing is that I pride myself on thinking that I'm not easily shocked, But obviously I am.

I have spoken in my blogs before that I'm an author and I visit schools, here there and everywhere. I specialise in working with young people who have no interest in education or have been taken out of education. My aim is to show them the reason for learning and that it can be both fun and interesting.

I visit some schools once every year, one such school is in a very deprived area, and lots of the students at the school come from very difficult backgrounds. Their parents have never worked, their grandparents have never worked. There is usually a man in a BMW at the end of their estates selling mind-shrinking drugs, and this is what a lot of the young people aspire to be, to them he's a success.

The school in question has a head teacher who is a wonderful lady, but very stern: she has to be. You will note that I have been very careful not to mention the school, town or area.

This lady comes to school each day suited and booted, her turnout is immaculate, she wears long flowing dresses and suit jackets, and her hair is short-cropped. She's the kind of lady that you would see in a period drama, where all the maids and lesser mortals would refer to her with that strange pronunciation when they spoke. "Yes Marm!" (they always seemed to stick an 'R' in there).

This lady is a woman of substance, a woman not to be trifled with, she is the epitome of sobriety, and sensibility. So can you imagine my shock and horror when walking on a beach in Majorca a few years ago with my wife when I heard a loud shriek, “Gez! I can't believe it! Look! It's Gez fucking Walsh!”

I turned to be confronted with a very large lady wearing nothing more than,... well nothing really. You couldn't describe it as a bikini or a garment as it wasn't really covering anything. She had what can only be described as a thong, but it could have been some sort of sado-masochistic device! Her belly hung over her front botty and the implement of torture could only be seen briefly at the back. Her top was no better: it didn't cover anything except her nipples, it was more a feat of engineering than an item of clothing. I got the distinct impression that if one of her breasts were to escape from its anchorage, they were so large that the weight, momentum and gravity would create enough force to take a man's head clean off his shoulders.

She had, it's fair to say, had one or two sangrias, one or two quarts, that is. Her breath stunk of the drink and she was unsteady on her feet. I didn't have clue who this woman was, but unless she was the first ever person in history to really possess psychic powers, she certainly knew who I was.

“Imagine bumping into you here, you old twat!” she slurred, while swaying from side to side. She then promptly grabbed hold of me without warning and pressed me into her mountainous mass of flesh. I'm not sure if I blacked out at this point as I seemed to have been drawn into the very thing that nature abhors, a vacuum. I do remember being engulfed in hot sweaty blubber. Before all noise, light and oxygen disappeared. I seemed to have been trapped in there for some time, before her breasts, like some medieval siege weapon, expelled me back out onto the beach. People looked on shocked, as, to them, it looked like a woman had, as if from nowhere, produced a fully grown man from her bikini!

She turned to her husband and said, “This is the bugger I've told you about! The guy who can get the little shits at school eating out of his hand!” I then noticed the her husband was also wearing a bikini. I think he may have had breasts: my wife told me later it was a woman but I want a re-count on that!

I stared at this woman for what seemed an age, then the shock hit me, it was Miss Suited and Booted, Miss Sobriety, who, it seemed, had turned into an alcoholic, naturist, lesbian! She insisted that my wife and I accompanied her and her husband, sorry partner, to the nearest bar. We did have one drink with them but she was a nightmare. She swore loudly, threatened people who she claimed were staring at her, and told lewd jokes to a couple with a small child, before drunkenly staggering onto the beach only to remove the thong and relieve herself in full view of all the sun-worshippers.

Both my wife and myself made our excuses and beat a hasty retreat, and spent the rest of our holiday trying to hide from them.

Later that year, I was once again asked to visit the school where she was the head, and as I entered the reception area, she was standing waiting for me. No doubt to tell me how sorry she was for her behaviour and how it must have been the sun and maybe it would be best if I didn't mention our meeting out in warmer climes. She had no need to worry as I never reveal any information about anything that could cause people embarrassment. I'm like a doctor when it comes to keeping people's personal information.

She held out her hand and warmly shook mine, then hugged me. This time it wasn't as dangerous, as everything was safely tucked away. I smiled a reassuring smile to her as if to say "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me," when she turned to the secretary and said, “This guy is such a party animal, you wouldn't believe what we got up to on holiday!”

This, like the kiss between Santa and Batman, unnerved me. I could no longer see this woman in the way I had before. She had shattered my long-held beliefs about who and what she was, and again made me realise just how naïve I could be.

I would have ever thought that I was a person who liked things in nice neat boxes. Where people have to behave in a way that I expect them to behave, then I find it a bit disturbing because they turn out to be human after all, and not what I want or expect them to be.

Next, I'll probably find out something really crazy like Boris Johnson is not really a lovable eccentric buffoon, but a cynical, manipulating bully! Can't imagine that ever happening though!