What do Santa Claus, Elon Musk, Greta Garbo and Markus Jooste have in common? It is very seldom that any of them (never, in the case of the late Garbo) will agree to be interviewed by a member of the media.
There are lots of people who avoid the press like the plague, but these three take the marzipan.
Exactly a decade ago, however, I managed to get a rare few moments with Santa Claus on the phone. (I had to call in a favour from an elf.)
I have been thinking about this recently, because several friends and colleagues have mentioned how SC/FC has of late become even more elusive, as well as quite a lot thinner. I thought I’d revisit what he said back then and it turns out he provided quite a few clues to how his appearance and somewhat paranoid behaviour has played out in the intervening years.
For the sake of brevity, I’m going to leave out the questions I asked him and provide only his words on pertinent topics:
“Red is really not my colour, particularly with my complexion, but Mrs Claus made my first suit when we got married and I didn't want to hurt her feelings, so now I'm stuck with it. I wish she'd made it in turquoise.
“Reindeer are not the most efficient means of transport. They don't always pull together. Some are scared of heights and scream (down south there's a bird called a hadeda that makes a similar sound), which interferes with my GPS and my concentration. When Vixen is feeling hormonal she starts biting the others.
Red is really not my colour, particularly with my complexion
“Blitzen is terrified of lightning. And that ruddy Rudolf always has a cold. Then they get hungry and we have to land in someone's field to refuel and the next day the papers are full of idiotic theories about crop circles.
“Aeroplanes are a hazard. No matter how many airlines close down, every year there are more flying machines and they keep getting bigger. No autopilot for me. The reindeer get mesmerised by that spinning white thing in the middle of aircraft engines, so I have to stay awake to navigate. I can't exactly file a flight plan or people would know when to expect me.
“I should never have let the elves unionise. Of course I had no choice — no one wants to see the guy whose job is to make the world a happier place get dragged before a tribunal for abusing the rights of mythical creatures — but I'd happily go back to the old feudal system where they did what I told them to or got turned into tree ornaments. Since they appointed shop stewards my life has been a misery. I blame Eric the angry elf, who wears a hat with a bell on it.
“It's important to remain fit and healthy. I've been doing this job for 1,700 years and still perform with the energy of a 20-year-old. I couldn't keep up with present demands if I wasn't in shape.
“Don't let that red fat suit fool you — it's stuffed with thermal heating pads for flying in an open contraption at altitude in the northern winter. Underneath it I'm as taut and lean as Usain Bolt. Occasionally, when the elves are on strike, I get oiled up and moonlight as a pole dancer.
“What people want is not always what they need. If I gave everyone what they ask for, I'd be doing most of them a disservice. Kids wanting a free life pass to McDonald's wouldn't be able to sit on my lap if I let them have it. Automatic weapons are not for Christmas and Lamborghinis do not fit in my sack. Someone called Khanyi Mbau wrote asking for a live, diamond-studded elf to put on her tree. I wanted to give her Eric but the union stopped it.
“I might sound like a grumpy old man, but this job can have its rewards. When I take food, books, comfort or hope to those whose hunger is not for Swarovski crystals and sports cars, my job feels real. I’ve been keeping to myself lately because the world is more dangerous in every way, but have no fear, I’m not resigning.”
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