Everything was organised. The stalls were allocated, the banner was up on the main road, and press releases and adverts had been placed in all the local media.
All was accounted for and in its rightful place.
My Boss arrived and looked around at the preparations approvingly. "Oh, and I've got us some reindeer," he announced.
"Yes, they're pretty tame now."
"Um...are these the reindeer that were entirely wild the last I heard?"
"They'll be in a pen."
I watched the erection of this pen in the courtyard. I had concerns about its efficiency, concerns which were allayed with liberal applications of baling twine.
"How big are they, exactly, these reindeer?"
"Oh, not fully grown yet. Not that big. Quite small. The older one's only just come into rut. Which has made him a bit boisterous, but he's had a hormone jab and he'll be fine on the day."
I duly went off to rewrite my press releases to highlight this exciting new facet to our festive event.
As it turned out, the reindeer were hugely popular. The nice thing about them is that while most children are wise to the fact that Santa is just some bloke in a poorly fitting costume, a reindeer is undeniably a reindeer.
"Is reindeer shit as good for the garden as horse shit?" I idly asked McColleague as we watched the hordes of happy children stroking the furry defecating deer.
"Let's hope so," she replied.
"Ah well. Shall we go back to the brazier to get warm? We might be given more rejected chestnuts."
"What are we waiting for?"
We returned to the fire, eyes watering in the smoke, waiting to be offered those chestnuts which had burnt and/or been on the floor. We are not too proud to eat chestnuts which have had their flames extinguished by being stamped upon.