A major problem with mini Santas

’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, Nothing was stirring, just the gerbil and mouse. Then I heard a tapping upon my front door, Just a gentle rat-tat and then nothing more. I opened the door and saw no one there, Then a small piping voice called: ‘Oi, you up there.’ I looked down and got a peculiar surprise, Lots of miniature Santas appeared to my eyes, They were all so alike that they could have been brothers, There was just no way to tell one from the others. Along with them came the most peculiar machine, Like a big television with no case and no screen. As I stood there goggling, they said: ‘You’re not drunk. We really are Santas, it’s just that we’ve shrunk. ‘To help with the work at this time of the year, We invented a machine, the one you see here. ‘It multiplies Santas, that’s quite plain to see, But we all come out tiny, at just two foot three.’ I sighed and I told them: ‘Just bring the thing here, Though I’ve already started on my Christmas beer.’ I opened the device, got a shock and a blister But finally traced the dodgy transistor. I plugged the thing in, and then switched on the power, It flashed for a minute (it seemed like an hour). The first Santa shouted: ‘Let’s have some quiet. We need a brave Santa who’s willing to try it. ‘If it wasn’t a good and reliable fix, We can all get a job driving for Scalextric.’ One two-foot-three Santa popped in through the door, And a six-foot-three Santa appeared on the floor. At this they all queued up, this Santa-ish horde, They just couldn’t wait to be fully restored. The last one went through, and I asked: ‘Is that all?’ And unplugged the box from the socket on the wall. Though I hated to do it, I asked: ‘But who will, Be helping me settle my electricity bill?’ They said: ‘In view of the help that you’ve been, We’d like you to keep the reproducing machine.’ So I did, and when I run a bit short of cash. I reproduce fivers, as quick as a flash.

John McCutcheon, Leven, Fife.