32
Ah, exactly what I was looking for – straight away, too. What luck.
“Either that, or someone’s started running out of ideas.”
No, we’re at the right place, I think…
…but no one is on duty.
Then I’ll go old school. I’ll hit the bell and…
“I would like to register a complaint!” shouts out Isobel, swelling my pride. “This is a dud grotto!”
“You’d like to register a complaint?” fusses a woman as she comes out of the back room. “What do you think it’s like to be married to a minotaur?”
Oh. Hello. We’re not happy about our Santa.
“Aren’t you. Well… that’s a third world problem if ever I heard one!”
I’m sorry – isn’t this the complaints desk?
“It is – and I’m glad you’re here.”
You are?
“Too true! It’s about time. Have you seen all these bloomin’ ladies, dancing around him on his way in, each morning.”
It’s just… well, the grotto isn’t even Christmassy in a lot of places.
“Not that he could pull a cracker if she landed in his lap!”
And you know it really isn’t very clear how we are supposed to get the tokens.
“And you try buying furniture with a bloke who has a panic attack the moment he steps into an IKEA! (And don’t talk to me about trying to build the stuff with those hooves of his!)”
You know, I’m not even sure she’s listening to our complaint.
“Your complaint? No dear – this is where I come to get all of my complaints heard.”
Ah. Then perhaps we had better just move on?
“And another thing… look at this rubbish sign they gave me. It’s like they don’t even take me seriously.”
No… what a surprise. I mean… how sad. Shall we be off?