Graham Carter - the voice of age and experience

“THE Christmas we get we deserve.” So says one of my all-time favourite festive songs, I Believe In Father Christmas, which has been made all the more poignant this year because its co-writer and performer, Greg Lake, has recently died.

From the moment I first heard the song as a teenager, all those years ago, it always made me feel Christmassy, but the lyrics also said something about the spirit of the season.

I had already given up believing in Father Christmas by then, of course, but, in one respect, I never stopped believing, because I have always loved Christmas, and never did grow out of it.

Becoming a father (or mother) makes you believe in Father Christmas all over again, and you realise that even better than being awestruck by him in the first place is watching your children come under the same spell.

In time we will watch the wheel turn full circle again, if we are lucky enough to have grandchildren.

With each generation, the aura of Father Christmas (or St Nicholas or Santa Claus or whatever you want to call him) grows.

Or should.

But the unfortunate thing about Father Christmas is he is too busy to make personal appearances during the run-up to the big day.

So he relies on an army of deputies who are willing to help out, allowing him to get on with his important work at the North Pole.

But the work of his deputies is important too, and should never, repeat: never, be taken lightly.

However, some of them are better at it than others. Last week I met my wife for lunch in Swindon Town Centre. A week earlier we had returned from a trip to Hamburg, with Germany having become a regular destination at this time of year, because we love the way the Germans enjoy Christmas.

It was my first visit to the shops in Regent Street for some weeks, and the contrast with what we found in Hamburg (and last year in Berlin) could hardly have been greater.

Outside a pop-up shop selling cut-price Christmas goods, one of Father Christmas’s deputies was trying to drum up business.

You may have seen him. He had the gear, including the coat and the boots, but no hat, and his beard didn’t quite fit.

And, how can I put this tactfully? He was not the most convincing Father Christmas I have ever seen in my life. Nor the most appealing. Or dignified. This was no Richard Attenborough in Miracle On 34th Street.

In fact, when we met a friend coming the other way, she rolled her eyes and complained about what she called ‘Sleazy Santa’.

Now, I don’t mind people having a bit of fun in Santa outfits, especially if they are raising money for charity or having a few drinks, but if you are going to have the honour of putting on the uniform, greeting families and spreading some of the magic to shoppers, you really ought to be cut out for the job.

As much as I like his song, Greg Lake was wrong when he said we get the Christmas we deserve. I think Swindon’s children deserve a better Santa in the Town Centre, and I also - let’s not duck this issue, either - think it should be a bit more Christmassy than it is, and has been in recent years.

Frankly, most other places seem to do Christmas much better these days. So my Christmas wish, this year, is simple.

I’m hoping that - not just in Swindon but all over the world - we really do get the Christmas we deserve.