’Twas the night before Christmas. And while not even the mice were stirring, up at the North Pole it was action stations. With the sun setting over New Zealand it would soon be time to start another frenzied 12-hour global delivery run. Christmas Eve was about to begin.
A nervous Santa Claus paced his workshop. Every year there were more children to reward. And every year his back creaked a little louder and his knees ached just little bit more.
It was as easy as ever to drive his red sleigh through the night’s sky. His trusty eight reindeer were as fleet of hoof as ever. But when he arrived at each country the business of getting presents from the sleigh, down thousands of separate chimneys, and then under each tree was proving harder and harder.
But it was Christmas Eve and presents had to be delivered. And he was Santa Claus. “Are all the New Zealand presents loaded into the sleigh?” he boomed in his trademark baritone. A dozen elves nodded and made a merry tinkling sound as the bells on the end of their little hats all chimed in unison.