Good­bye, yel­low toll road...

Santa puts to­gether some mighty fine gifts for some mighty South Africans...

The Citizen (KZN) - - Opinion - Bren­dan Seery

The old man ran his fin­gers through his white beard as he looked at the set­ting sun. He could take down the um­brella now and he’d prob­a­bly have to put a shirt on over his swim­ming trunks.

As he got off the sun lounger, he picked up the re­mains of the pina co­lada in the tall glass. It didn’t seem that long ago that they used to sit around a roar­ing fire on the ice, drink­ing strong Fin­nish vodka. Oh well, I sup­pose that Greta kid was right. The Arc­tic couldn’t last for­ever.

That brought him on to his next thought. That Amer­i­can politi­cian said the world only has 12 years left – so he had put in for early re­tire­ment (nor­mally Fa­ther Christ­mas could work well into his 80s) and in­tended to take his pen­sion and spend it on wine, women and song. The rest he would waste…

But there was still 2019 to get through. He saw the Chief Elf walk­ing over.

“Okay – let’s have a look at the presents for South Africa…”

The Chief Elf said: “Boss, re­mem­ber we put the process on to com­puter a few years ago be­cause we weren’t get­ting any more let­ters from there any more. Ap­par­ently, their Post Of­fice is not that good...”

Santa Claus nod­ded: “But didn’t the com­puter strug­gle? When it came to fig­ur­ing out South Africa, didn’t it blow its logic cir­cuits?”

Chief Elf said: “Cor­rect, but now we are do­ing things their way. We just don’t think too much about it and, like them, we blame some­one else and just drink …”

First up – an El­ton John gift set for Fik­ile Mbalula, the trans­port min­is­ter.

“He’s al­ready got the out­ra­geous sun­glasses and the silly hats, but he re­ally needs those se­quinned elec­tric boots,” said the Chief Elf. “What’s the USB stick for?” asked Santa. “We added a new ver­sion of one of El­ton’s songs for him,” Elf said as he put the de­vice into a mu­sic cen­tre. Soon sounds wafted over them:

“Good­bye yel­low toll road Where the dogs of so­ci­ety howl …”

Next? A box of bot­tles of Res­cue Rem­edy, the anx­i­ety cure. “Who is this for?” asked Claus.

“The Proteas. They go­ing to need it to get some sleep be­cause once the English are here, they won’t get much…”

Claus looked at the knit­ting nee­dles and pat­tern book. “This isn’t go­ing to work…

“He­len Zille is not go­ing to sit by the fire­side and knit.”

Chief Elf con­tin­ued: “We have some dona­tions of presents, which has saved us a bit of work…

He picked up a box just as a meow came from in­side it.

“It’s a cat. It’s ad­dressed to some­one called Julius Malema, from some­body named Barry Bate­man. I don’t get it…”

Both men sud­denly stopped as the sound of hun­dreds of march­ing boots crunching on the for­mer per­mafrost reached their ears.

“What on earth?” asked Claus, as he took in the im­mac­u­late pre­sen­ta­tion of three ranks of peo­ple wear­ing leder­ho­sen.

“Who are you?”

“Guten Abend. I present com­pli­ments from Chan­cel­lor An­gela Merkel. We are a gift to An­dre de Ruyter, who is the new CEO of Eskom in South Africa.”

The Ger­man spun on his heel and said: “My name is Hans and may I present Hans, Hans, Hans, Hans, Hans – we are all Hans.”

The Chief Elf shook his head: “I don’t get this South African stuff…”

Claus sighed: “Many Hans make light work…

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