His face drooped like Eeyore’s on a bad day, and he felt as miserable as a child who’d been missed on Christmas Eve. What was he to do? He picked up the letter in his chubby, pink fingers and sighed as he read it again.

 Dear Santa,

I wanted to give you a present this year, but I don’t have much money, so I’ve decided to give you some advice instead. You’re a great guy, so I hope you won’t be offended. I just want to help.

You have a weight problem, it’s as simple as that. It just isn’t cool to be overweight these days, it’s just not healthy. Okay, I know you’re pretty old, and you grew up in different times, but that’s not an excuse any more. You’ve got to trim down a little.

Chimneys are not what they used to be, you know, they’re not so big these days. It wouldn’t be a good look if you got stuck in someone’s chimney Christmas Eve and couldn’t deliver all the little kid’s prezzies.

Downsizing isn’t too difficult if you use a bit of common sense. First of all there’s the matter of beer and cookies, or even milk and cookies. How many kids do you deliver to? I hate to think, but my Maths tells me that if you drink a glass of beer or milk at every house and eat a cookie as well, that’s a humungous amount of calories. And, thinking of all those beers, maybe if you drank less you’d stop kissing so many mothers. Kissing isn’t good for you, you know – it spreads germs.

It wouldn’t be so bad if you got some exercise as well, but you don’t. You leave all the physical work to the elves, and Rudolph and his team.

To help you lose weight I’d love to give you a gym membership, but that’s way too expensive for me. I thought about lending you my Dad’s, as he hasn’t been to the gym for ages, but I don’t think he’d be too pleased to find he was paying for your downsize when he doesn’t have time to think about his own.

I’m sure if you look on the internet you’ll be able to find a good gym at the North Pole, or somewhere close by. They’ll have you fit and trim in no time.

Well, Santa, I hope this doesn’t leave you feeling too bad. I’m just trying to be helpful. Us kids really love you, and know you love us too. But we’re lucky, we learn all about healthy food and the dangers of obesity at school – I don’t think they taught you that in the old days, did they?

I hope you enjoy the fruit I’m leaving out for you this year. And say hi to Rudolph, he’s my favourite reindeer.

Your friend,

Sam

Santa’s heart felt as heavy as an overloaded bag of toys. He’d never had the truth thrown at him like that before. If Sam felt that way, how many other kids did as well? Okay, maybe he’d let himself go in recent years, but no one had complained about his image before. Santa was meant to be fat and jolly, wasn’t he? It had been an accepted family tradition for years. He’d read in the newspapers, heard on TV and even seen on the internet that children these days had an obesity problem, put down to their lack of physical activity and their preoccupation with computers and play stations. He’d taken this into consideration when he distributed their gifts, trying to persuade them to be more active. It had never occurred to him he had a problem too. What was he going to do?

Obviously it was time to face up to the facts. He huffed and puffed his way across the floor, thinking about chocolate éclairs and strawberries and cream. What a shock to see something resembling a cream puff looking back at him from the mirror. His

chubby cheeks drooped like melting ice-cream and his double chin undulated like the hilly countryside. Rolls of fat oozed over his belt, like hot gravy oozing over mashed potato. Dull blue eyes stared back at him, not a twinkle in sight. His happiness drained from him like a rag doll losing its stuffing.

Give me a week, he thought, a week to see what I can do before I reply to Sam. He closed his eyes and shuddered. Visions of his wife’s cream filled sponge cakes, of toast dripping with thick butter, of roast beef and potatoes, and of chocolate chip cookies tumbled through his head.

His red suit hung in the wardrobe, lovingly ironed by his wife so there wasn’t a wrinkle in sight. There was only one thing for it, he needed to try it on, check it was still the

snug fit it had been last Christmas.

Fat alert lights flashed from the mirror. His bulging belly stretched the red suit to its limits, the zip almost popping apart with the effort of holding him inside. Trapped inside his knee-high boots, his feet and legs looked like too much stuffing in the Christmas chicken. Even a child’s drawing made him look better than this.

Santa’s self-esteem plummeted. He had never had an image crisis before. His ancestors had looked like this for years and he really didn’t want to change. But, he was a man with responsibilities. He recognised his role model status in society, children all around the world looked up to him, perhaps he should make an effort to conform to modern attitudes. His fingers intertwined with his beard’s silken tresses. At least that hasn’t expanded, he thought, though maybe a trim is a little overdue. For the next week Santa was determined to make a difference. He secretly searched the internet for advice and created an action plan.

First, food and drink. Low-cal beer and trim milk sounded like sensible options, maybe that change wouldn’t be too difficult to make. But substituting carrot sticks and muesli bars for cookies and cake was stretching the imagination a bit too far. His wife’s baking was the best in the world and he didn’t want to offend her by refusing her daily offerings. He couldn’t say no to her huge servings of roast beef, potatoes and gravy or to her lovingly prepared tender steak and chips. As for breakfast without bacon and eggs, that just wouldn’t be the same.

The answer was obviously exercise. The internet had plenty to say about that. For seven days and seven nights he looked for ways to exercise. But when he tried press-ups his belly hung so low his little arms barely reached the floor. Walking sounded easy enough, but he was old, his knees were burdened with weight, and his manufacturing rooms were huge. Besides, time was running out, there weren’t too many more sleeps until Christmas. Things were achieved much more quickly when he rode his hi-tech motorized scooter through the workshops.

A round of golf might be the answer, good for flexibility as well as toning up the old body a bit. But it took only a few minutes to cross that off the list. First, how could he hit that tiny ball down there somewhere by his feet, when his belly blocked his view. And those oozing rolls of fat just wouldn’t twist enough to allow him to swing his club. Christmas had never been cancelled before, but that would surely happen if he injured himself.

The week passed more quickly than it takes reindeer to fly around the world. It was time to answer Sam’s letter. Santa was faced with a dilemma, how could he explain his situation? As he sunk into the comfortable chair at his desk, the latest mail delivery distracted him. A pretty pink letter, sitting right at the top, caught his attention. He picked it up and opened it. Fluttering fairies danced around the edges of the letter. The handwriting was neat and tiny. His face started beaming after reading only a few words..

Dear Santa,

I love you. I love your big chubby cheeks and your wobbly jelly belly. You look so kind, as kind as my favourite cuddly teddy. I wish I could sit on your knee, but Mummy says I mustn’t do that any more.

I’ll leave you a glass of chocolate milk and some of Mummy’s yummy home-baked cookies on Christmas Eve. If you want to leave me something in return, that will be great – not a skipping rope though, I’m not too fond of skipping.

Your best friend,

Jessie.

Santa’s cheeks and chins wobbled in delight. Yes, he thought, there must be others who think like Jessie, others who know some things must never change. The sparkle returned to his eyes and his nose twitched as it caught a wonderful smell, the smell of home baking wafting from the kitchen. Easing himself up out of his chair, he decided to go and investigate. My stomach needs some exercise he chuckled, as waddled towards his most favourite room in the house. His whole body tingled in time to the music of clanging oven trays.

He had always thought that downsizing was a silly word.