AN AD in last week’s Southport Champion apparently solved a motoring mystery. When the job gets too tough for reindeer, Santa uses an Isuzu D-MAX!
Plugs for Japanese pick-up trucks aside, the question of what the world’s best known delivery man would opt for as his choice of wheels is a surprisingly tricky one to call. In fact, the topic occupied a surprising amount of time with my colleagues at the Classic Car WeeklyChristmas dinner the other day. Yep, I know we should get out more.
Personally, I reckon it’s still open to debate. Largely because I doubt Father Christmas would use any form of motorised transport – not even something as surefooted and spacious as the aforementioned D-MAX – for the job of dispatching all the ponies and Sony Xbox Ones to all the boys and girls who’ve been nice and enough coal to heat Sheffield for a month to all the ones who’ve been naughty.
If Father Christmas actually issued Rudolph and his mates their P45s and did his rounds next Tuesday night with a car, said vehicle would have to have Antonov-rivalling levels of room inside for all the presents, and still somehow be light enough to park on a snowy roof without either crashing through the slate tiles onto the mince pies simmering below or sliding off altogether, falling into the street below and landing The Champion the festive scoop of the century.
I reckon, boys and girls, that the prestigious job of delivering all the presents can only be done using a dozen reindeer and a sleigh endowed with a TARDIS-esque quality. Particularly because the only way I can think of him doing the job automotively depresses me. Father Christmas clattering up your driveway in a battered old Mercedes Sprinter would ruin the magic of Christmas!
If our bearded chum way up north does own a car, I reckon he’d use it for rather more mundane duties. Popping to the Lapland branch of ASDA, perhaps, or running the elves back from the pub on a Friday night.
I quite liked the idea of Father Christmas, if he’s anything like the grumpy Englishman portrayed in the 1991 cartoon, bobbing about in something like an old Triumph Herald, but it stands to reason that he both lives and works at either Lapland or the North Pole, both of which require the use of something a bit sturdier. Something which is comfy enough for a portly bloke who’s getting on a bit, but can still fight its way out of a snowdrift.
Therefore, after much deliberation, I’ve decided that Father Christmas is a Range Rover man. Merry Christmas!
