We took Frankie to the Lowry (or at least the shopping centre attached to the Lowry) to see Santa Claus turning on the lights. He didn't come on straight away- first we had to endure a succession of scraping-the-bottom-of-the-barrel support acts. First up were a three-piece girl band who were introduced as 'The New Spice Girls'. I don't think the old ones will be losing any sleep judging by the hideously out-of-tune sub R'n'B racket that passed for their Christmas single. The interview with the compere on stage afterwards didn't do much either to endear them to the assembled Sunday afternoon shoppers and toddlers:
'So- I hear you girls are on tour. When are you due in Manchester?'
'Oh, we're not coming to Manchester'
'Er, fair enough. Now then, next on stage, the choir of St Josephs Catholic Girls School Davyhulme, who are going to give us 'Away in a Manger'. Take it away girls'.
There was also what appeared to be a Blues Brothers Tribute Band (basically three badly-choreographed blokes in cheap suits and sunglasses who could quite conceivably have been the security guards from Argos passing by in their lunch hour) and some bloke whose claim to fame is having flirted (unsuccesfully) with Tara Palmer Tomkinson during the 2005 edition of I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here. Thankfully he hasn't got a Christmas single out- or perhaps he had been ganged up on backstage and had it beaten out of him by the massed ranks of the Blues Brothers tirbute band and the choir of St Joseph's Catholic Girls School, Davyhulme. At this time of year it is indeed heartwarming to witness the lengths ordinary members of the public will go to in order to lessen the distress of their fellow men.
Eventually the Celebrity bloke shuffled off to rapturous apathy.... to be replaced by Santa Claus himself. Between you and me mind, I'm not sure it was the real Santa Claus at all, red coat and flowing white beard or no red coat and flowing white beard. The fellow looked about twenty-five, couldn't have weighed more than eight stone, and spent his brief appearance in the limelight jingling the change in the cavernous pockets of his outsize red jumpsuit trousers. The compere (who I was starting to feel sorry for by now) had about as much success as with the wannabee Spice Girls:
'So, Santa, you'll be busy this time of year,then, I suppose?'
'Er, what's that mate?'
'I mean, you and the elves'll be busy getting all the presents packed for the good boys and girls, isn't that right, Santa?'
'Oh aye, right. Right you are. Me and me elves, mate, aye'.
Of course none of this matters at all though, does it? The truth is I wasn't really watching the welterweight Santa, I was watching three-year-old-Frankie, who was perched on my shoulder and peering intently towards the stage. And the lad was charmed, make no mistake. The look of sheer wonderment that came over his face as the guy in the red suit took the hastily-constructed stage, and stayed there right through his fleeting, faltering appearance, is one that will stay with me (and maybe with him) forever. Which is more, thankfully, than can be said for Santa's support acts. Maybe he should have just brought some of those elves of his instead.
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