The Santa's Clauses Chapter 3

I nearly got arrested today. I set up shop – I mean my folding stool – in front of a shop.  Not just any shop; it’s one of those that take up half the pavement and then some with all manner of paraphernalia, thus using taxpayer money to enlarge their premises, rent-free. I was doing a brisk business, handing out soft toys and vouchers, beading sets and vouchers, building block kits and vouchers, hand-held electronic games and vouchers, fashion dolls and vouchers, craft kits and vouchers, books and vouchers… when a heft hand fell upon my shoulder. Hey! This is private property!  intoned the officious voice of a small town pompous pretentious portentous big-wig wanting to flex his muscle, masquerading as a warden (this impersonation thing is catching, apparently!). Of course, I recognised him immediately; he was one of the neighbours we had when we lived in Mellieħa – the one whose mother was always hiding behind the hedge in the front garden, watching the comings and goings of all the neighbours, and attended all the receptions of all the candidates of all political parties to hedge her bets. I stood up (did I say I stand 6’1” in my stockinged feet?) and so he had to crane his neck...