‘Yes, but I got to eat all the Easter Bunny’s chocolate before I was arrested,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I haven’t had my Christmas lunch yet. And you promised to make the most wonderful Christmas lunch ever, so I don’t want to miss that.’

  ‘We can’t leave Santa unconscious and lying on the footpath on Christmas Eve night,’ said Derrick. ‘What are we going to do with him?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins.

  ‘No,’ said the children.

  ‘I may not know a lot about celebrating Christmas, but I have watched every Christmas movie and television special ever made,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘So I know that when Santa falls ill, or sprains his ankle, or is kidnapped, it is the job of the first person who finds out to take over and do his job.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ asked Samantha. (Samantha actually knew exactly what Nanny Piggins was saying, but she was desperately hoping she was wrong.)

  ‘I shall be Santa Claus and deliver presents to all the boys and girls of the world!’ declared Nanny Piggins.

  ‘All the good boys and girls,’ corrected Boris.

  ‘No, I’m going to give presents to the bad children as well. Unlike Santa I believe in positive reinforcement,’ explained Nanny Piggins. ‘If they’re behaving badly and you want them to improve, you have to use the carrot as well as the stick.’

  ‘But you always say you’d rather be hit by a stick than have to eat a carrot,’ argued Michael.

  ‘Just because the expression doesn’t make any sense doesn’t make it any less true,’ said Nanny Piggins sternly. ‘Now help me get Santa inside.’

  ‘Do you want me to carry him?’ asked Boris.

  ‘No, I think we’d better drag him,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘He’s a heavy one and I’d hate for you to get a hernia on the night before Christmas. Especially when you promised to perform the entire Nutcracker ballet for us after lunch tomorrow.’

  And so Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children dragged Santa inside (only banging his head three times on the edge of the garden path and once on the telephone table in the hallway).

  ‘What next?’ asked Samantha. ‘Are you going to put on Santa’s clothes?’

  ‘First of all,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘it would be highly impertinent to undress the man. He’s got a head injury, so I’d find it very hard to justify to the Police Sergeant why I took his trousers off. And secondly, I would never wear such an unflattering outfit.’

  The children looked at Santa. Nanny Piggins did have a point. Bright red was not very slimming.

  ‘It’s almost as if he’s proud to have a weight problem!’ continued Nanny Piggins. ‘In this day and age, when everyone is so concerned about childhood obesity, he is hardly a good role model. No, if I am going to be Santa Claus, I am sure I can find something much more glamorous to wear.’

  And so Nanny Piggins dashed upstairs and disappeared into her bedroom. She reappeared five minutes later wearing a fabulous off-the-shoulder crimson ball gown, which was perfectly accessorised by two beautiful dangling earrings that Nanny Piggins had made out of two chocolate Santas. (Chocolate Christmas tree decorations never actually made it to the tree in the Green house.)

  ‘Right, hand me Santa’s sack, I’m off to deliver presents,’ announced Nanny Piggins.

  The children did not know what to say. They could have said ‘Are you out of your mind?’ or ‘How are you going to climb down a chimney dressed in that?’ But they realised it would be much more fun watching Nanny Piggins try to climb down a chimney dressed in a ball gown. So Derrick simply said, ‘Here you are,’ as he handed his nanny the sack. Then they dutifully followed behind her as she carried it out into the street.

  ‘Where shall we deliver presents first?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

  There were not a lot of children living in the street (one of the chief reasons for Mr Green choosing to live in the neighbourhood).

  ‘Mrs Roncoli’s grandchildren are staying with her,’ suggested Samantha. ‘Julia is five and Raymond is two.’

  ‘Perfect,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘And I know for a fact that Mrs Roncoli baked a Dundee cake this morning, so perhaps we can have a slice of cake while we’re in there.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that be wrong?’ asked Derrick.

  ‘We’re breaking into her house!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘If she catches us, she’s not going to quibble about a slice of cake.’

  Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children crossed the street and let themselves in through Mrs Roncoli’s front gate. Then they stood back and watched Nanny Piggins. They should have realised that their nanny was not going to let a little thing like an ankle-length satin ball gown hamper her athleticism. She just hitched the hem of her skirt up into her undies and scampered up the drainpipe like a monkey.

  Next it was the children’s turn to get up on the roof, and since Derrick, Samantha and Michael had no circus training, this was not so simple. But the children found that if they climbed up Boris and stood on his head (which he did not mind), they were high enough to grasp Nanny Piggins’ trotter. Then she could pull them up, one at a time, to join her.

  Pulling Boris up was going to be a little bit harder, what with him weighing 700 kilograms and not being able to stand on his own head. But the problem was solved when Nanny Piggins told him she thought she saw a bee by his left foot, and he simply leapt up onto the roof without any help from anyone.

  Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children then made their way over to the chimney and peered over the edge. It was very dark and black inside.

  ‘I’m going to throw the presents down first,’ said Nanny Piggins, emptying her sack into the chimney. ‘That way they can break my fall.’

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like us to fetch a rope so we can lower you down?’ offered Michael.

  ‘Pish!’ said Nanny Piggins, as she climbed up on the chimney stack. ‘There’s no time for that. I have a whole planet’s worth of toys to deliver. Wish me luck!’ And with one last wave to the children she dived headfirst down the chimney. The children heard nothing for a moment . . . then the distinctive sound of a pig falling headfirst onto a pile of toys.

  ‘Ow!’ said Nanny Piggins

  ‘Are you all right?’ called Derrick, his voice echoing down the chimney.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Nanny Piggins. ‘Although in hindsight I probably should have only thrown the soft toys down first. A scale model of the Taj Mahal does not make for a very soft landing.’

  ‘Can you see the Christmas stockings?’ asked Michael.

  ‘I can’t see anything, it’s too dark down here,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘No, hang on, I can’t see anything because my skirt is over my head. I’ll just adjust that . . . Wait a minute, there’s no way out! There are bricks on all four sides.’

  ‘I didn’t like to say anything earlier, Sarah,’ said Boris, leaning over the chimney, ‘but Mrs Roncoli did get a gas heater installed last month. You remember, you made the workmen lend you their van so you could get even more chocolate than usual from the sweet shop.’

  ‘What’s your point?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

  ‘I’m pretty sure that to install a gas heater you first have to brick-up the fireplace,’ explained Boris.

  ‘Well of all the . . .’ Nanny Piggins muttered a few very rude things that I cannot repeat here in print. But the gist of it was – she was not impressed that Mrs Roncoli had failed to explain the full details of her renovation plans to Nanny Piggins both personally and in writing.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ worried Samantha.

  ‘I’m going to give Mrs Roncoli a piece of my mind,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘But how are you going to get out of there?’ asked Derrick.

  Nanny Piggins looked up at Boris and the children twenty feet above as they stared down the chimney at her.

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ asked Boris.

  ‘I was just thinking . . . that from the inside, a chimney is an awful lot like a cannon,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  Twenty minutes later the children were standing a safe distance away on the far side of the street as Boris rolled out the last of the fuse wire.

  ‘This is safe, isn’t it?’ asked Samantha.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t say it was safe,’ admitted Boris (he was an honest bear). ‘If anyone else tried it I’m sure it would go horribly wrong. But at the circus, Nanny Piggins used to get blasted out of a cannon seven times a night. So this will be a walk in the park for her.’

  Boris lit the fuse.

  ‘You know we could just knock on Mrs Roncoli’s door and explain what happened,’ said Derrick, beginning to panic.

  ‘Or lower a rope down and pull her out,’ suggested Michael.

  ‘Ooh, that is a good idea,’ said Boris. ‘It’s a shame it’s too late now. Look, the fuse is almost there.’

  The children watched in horror as the fuse disappeared into the chimney.

  ‘Cover your ears,’ advised Boris.

  Derrick, Samantha and Michael only just got their hands to their ears before they were shaken by the huge blast. The shock waves knocked Derrick and Samantha off their feet (they would have knocked Michael off his feet too except he was standing right in front of Boris and it is hard to go anywhere when there is a 700-kilogram bear right behind you). Then they saw a streak of crimson rocket up into the sky with the distant cry of ‘Yippeeeeeeeeeee!’ from Nanny Piggins as she flew up into the stratosphere.

  ‘Oh my goodness, how is she going to land?!’ exclaimed Samantha. ‘We didn’t rig up a safety net.’

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ said Boris confidently.

  ‘What do you mean she’ll be fine?!’ said Derrick. ‘Gravity causes a body to accelerate at 9.8 metres per second. If she goes a thousand metres in the air that means she will hit the ground going –’ Derrick struggled to do the maths in his head.

  ‘Really fast,’ supplied Michael.

  ‘Sarah knows what she is doing,’ said Boris.

  ‘Does she secretly have a parachute in her ball gown?’ asked Samantha.

  ‘She has got one in her red clutch purse. But whoops!’ said Boris, holding up a red clutch purse. ‘She gave that to me to mind.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Samantha. ‘This is going to be the worst Christmas ever.’ And Samantha knew quite a bit about bad Christmases because their beloved mother had gone missing in mid-December (and before she’d had a chance to make a Christmas cake, so it was a double tragedy).

  But a moment later, instead of seeing their nanny plummeting back to earth as they expected, they saw, illuminated in the moonlight, what looked like a giant red umbrella with two pig’s feet in the middle, floating slowly down towards the ground.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ exclaimed Derrick. ‘Nanny Piggins’ skirt has puffed out and it’s acting as a parachute!’

  ‘Now I can see why Nanny Piggins says it is vitally important to always wear clean underwear,’ said Michael.

  Nanny Piggins gently drifted down below the line of the rooftops, then they heard the most wonderful sound. Instead of a crash or a thud, there was a huge ‘kersplash!’ as Nanny Piggins landed safely in the backyard swimming pool of Mr and Mrs Taylor, three blocks away.

  ‘You see, I told you she’d be fine,’ said Boris.

  Boris and the children ran around to the Taylors’ house and met a very soggy Nanny Piggins emerging from the front gate.

  ‘Well that was fun!’ said Nanny Piggins excitedly. ‘Although I think I’ve ruined my best ball gown. I must have a word with Mr Taylor about using less chlorine in his pool.’

  ‘You’re not hurt?’ asked Samantha.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I enjoyed it tremendously. There was just enough time in my flight for me to eat my chocolate earrings.’

  ‘But what are you going to do about delivering all the toys?’ asked Derrick. ‘You’ve been Santa Claus for forty minutes now and you haven’t managed to deliver any presents.’

  ‘At this rate you’ll never get presents to everyone in just one night,’ added Michael.

  ‘I must admit I don’t seem to be as effortlessly good at this job as I am at every other job I try,’ conceded Nanny Piggins. ‘Perhaps we should go and consult Santa. He may have regained consciousness by now, and he might be able to let me in on some of his tricks. He could at least tell me where he parked his reindeer.’

  So Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children went back to their house where they found Santa still lying on the couch. They knew he was all right because no-one with a serious head injury would snore that loudly.

  ‘Wake up, Santa,’ called Nanny Piggins. ‘Wake up!’

  Santa suddenly woke up with a grunt and a very unattractive snort. ‘What, what, what?’ said Santa. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

  ‘Santa sounds awfully familiar,’ said Samantha with growing dread.

  ‘Aaaggghhh! His beard has fallen off!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins when Santa’s beard had came away on her toffee-stained trotters.

  But the children were not looking at the beard, they were looking at a far more shocking sight – the now naked-faced Santa.

  ‘Aaaaggghhh, it’s Father!’ yelled the children.

  ‘Urgh,’ moaned Mr Green. ‘What happened? I’ve just had the most peculiar dream. I was walking along the street when suddenly a great big fat bear started yelling at me.’

  Boris (who had hidden under a lampshade as soon as he saw Mr Green) whimpered. He was very sensitive about his weight.

  Nanny Piggins, who was very protective of her brother, slapped Mr Green hard across the face.

  ‘Ow!’ squealed Mr Green. ‘What did you do that for?’

  ‘Oh I’m sorry,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Slapping is for hysteria, isn’t it? And icepacks are for head injuries. I always get those two confused. I really must finish reading that first-aid book.’

  ‘Give me back my fake beard,’ demanded Mr Green. ‘I don’t want to lose my deposit at the costume shop.’

  ‘I will not. How dare you walk the street impersonating a beloved holiday icon,’ scolded Nanny Piggins. ‘Children love Santa. Just think how disappointed they would be if they thought Santa was like you.’

  ‘I’m not dressed up in this ridiculous costume voluntarily,’ snapped Mr Green. ‘I only did it because the senior partner made me for the firm’s Christmas party.’

  ‘Why you?’ asked Derrick.

  ‘I was the only one the red suit would fit,’ admitted Mr Green.

  ‘Ah yes, because you’re fat,’ said Nanny Piggins nodding knowingly.

  ‘But why were you bringing home a big sack full of toys?’ asked Michael. ‘Shouldn’t you have given them out at the Christmas party?’

  ‘I didn’t get a chance to give away any toys because none of the children would come and sit on my lap,’ grumbled Mr Green. ‘I threatened to take a wooden spoon to them if they didn’t do as they were told, but that only seemed to make them cry harder.’

  ‘What I want to know,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘is if there was a work Christmas party, why didn’t you take your own children?’

  ‘Um well, um . . .’ stuttered Mr Green. ‘It never occurred to me. I forgot I had children, I suppose.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Derrick. ‘At least we didn’t hurt the real Santa.’

  ‘And we can leave it to the real Santa to deliver presents to all the boys and girls of the world,’ added Samantha.

  ‘I suppose,’ conceded Nanny Piggins, ‘but can we still go back across the road so I can blast myself out of Mrs Roncoli’s chimney again. That was a lot of fun.’

  ‘I don’t think Mrs Roncoli would appreciate it if we did structural damage to her home,’ worried Samantha.

  ‘Pish!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I’m sure she won’t even notice.’

  And so Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children had a wonderful Christmas Day. It started well when Mr Green went into the office to do some paperwork (he needed to rack up brownie points because he was going to have a tricky time explaining to the senior partner how the sack full of toys had come to be a small pile of melted debris). Then because Nanny Piggins had never made a Christmas dinner before, the children were in charge of all the cooking. And knowing their nanny well, they served Christmas pudding, Christmas pudding, Christmas pudding and Christmas pudding for entree, main course, dessert and second dessert.

  Admittedly Nanny Piggins did ruin the first Christmas pudding. When the children turned off the lights and brought the pudding into the dining room topped with flickering brandy sauce, Nanny Piggins was so horrified to see a dessert on fire she threw herself on the flames (risking her dress and her personal safety). But once the children had explained that flaming brandy sauce was traditional and in no way damaged the pudding, Nanny Piggins was able to relax and enjoy the meal. She enjoyed sucking the pudding off her dress. And then they all enjoyed eating the other three puddings off plates. After they had eaten as much as was physically possible, they went into the living room and had a wonderful time watching Boris perform The Nutcracker. (He did break two vases and the light fitting but only because he put on such a spectacular performance.)

  ‘So, Nanny Piggins,’ said Michael. ‘What do you think of Christmas?’

  ‘I think it’s wonderful,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘So you’re not going to put chicken wire over the chimney next year then?’ asked Derrick.

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘Good,’ said Samantha with relief.

  ‘Next year,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘I’ll put a trip wire down by the stockings. Santa will never see that coming.’

  Regrettably, because my weak-willed publishers fret and fuss every time someone threatens to sue them, I am being forced to tell you how to make a ‘safe’ Santa trap.

  Apparently several spoilsports (parents) are concerned that children who read my story Nanny Piggins Saves Christmas will be inspired to climb up on their roof and nail chicken wire over the chimney. (Indeed, two children in Switzerland already have. The Swiss will insist on building their houses with extremely steep roofs. Fortunately there had been six feet of snow the night before so the children had something lovely and soft to fall on.)