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Stuart bellows with laughter. ‘Only running our Kev does is to the pub,’ he says pointing at one of the Santas whose belly I suspect isn’t fake. He responds with a rude gesture that makes me giggle.
‘Oh, Leo hasn’t told you about the tradition?’ Stuart continues.
‘In all honesty, I’d thought you’d have done it by now and I wouldn’t have to be involved,’ Leo pipes up.
‘Well, I’m disappointed, mate,’ Stuart says, laughing. ‘Snow has held everything up. Half the roads are closed but we got here, we’re ready,’ he says, lunging to show us that much.
The circle of Santas close in on me so I can be party to this secret event. I huddle in, intrigued but realising that, for Leo’s sake, I need to look interested. ‘So every Christmas, once we’ve seen our families and had our turkey, it is tradition to meet in Kendal and start our honorary Christmas Day pub crawl.’
They all let out some sort of primal roar at that point, Leo shaking his head.
‘It never ends well,’ Leo mentions.
‘Au contraire. Some of my best Christmas memories have involved this pub crawl. Leo got arrested once for it.’
I turn to him, shocked. ‘This was not on your CV, Mr Golding.’
‘I’m not sure what the charge is for peeing against the town Christmas tree and shorting the lights,’ Stuart adds and I crease over with laughter, Leo not so much blushing but resigned to the fact that if his sisters hadn’t done some damage before, all his remaining secrets will now come out in this pub.
‘So this is the last stop, one drink before…’
Leo shakes his head, trying to prevent Stuart from telling me. ‘Lads, we’re nearly thirty. Are we seriously still doing this?’ I can’t work out if Leo is being the voice of reason because I’m here and he’s trying to look sensible, but I’m definitely intrigued now.
‘We steal a donkey.’
I open my eyes widely as he loud-whispers this to the group, hoping this isn’t a penis joke.
‘A what now?’
‘We end the night by sneaking onto Travers Farm down the road and kidnap the donkey.’
They all snigger like naughty schoolboys, Leo even managing an especially cheeky smile.
‘And what do you do with the donkey?’ I ask hesitantly. I rescue foxes now, I’m one with the animals and I’m not sure I’m keen on what could happen here.
‘Oh, we don’t take him far. We take comedy pictures with him. We walk him down the high street shouting out if anyone’s got any room in their inn,’ Stuart tells me.
I will admit to laughing to this.
‘We are very kind to the donkey. We also bring him gifts,’ another Santa tells me, showing me a shopping bag full of carrots and apples.
‘Any reason it’s that specific donkey?’ I ask.
‘Matthew Travers,’ Leo tells me. There’s a loud scowl as his name is mentioned, some suck air through their teeth, others grimace.
‘I’ll take it the man has done something wrong?’ I ask.
‘His old man owns the farm,’ Stuart explains. ‘Matt was just an A-grade tosser at school. He broke my nose on a football pitch.’
‘Bullied me for three years,’ one voice says.
‘Trashed the front of my nan’s shop…’
‘Stole my new BMX…’
‘And possibly slept with my sister and broke her heart,’ Leo says, putting his hand into the air.
I look around at all of them, all in their late twenties with too much Christmas spirit in their souls, quite literally, but obviously they feel a need to do this annually to get their own back at a school wanker. I was a numbers geek at school; I get where they’re coming from.
