Mum Diary: It's Time To Outlaw Rubbish Santas

“No, Olly, no! SANTA IS WATCHING!”

These were the words my three-year-old Harry shrieked at his 18-month-old brother at the weekend, as Olly chucked a Lego brick across the room.

Even though it’s only early December and even though we haven’t put up the tree or sent any cards, Harry has become aware that it’s nearly Christmas – which is having a remarkably positive affect on his behaviour.

Forget the parenting class I paid for and the copious amounts of books I have read on helping my son behave. All he needs is the promise of a tree-load of presents and the threat that someone will decide if he’s been naughty or nice.

After all, to a pre-schooler, Father Christmas is an all-powerful, all-knowing God. Santa sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake and he knows if you've been bad or good – so it’s probably best you don’t throw that brick, Olly.

To kick-start Christmas, a friend and I took our toddlers to a local church at the weekend. There were stalls, raffles and a Santa’s grotto, and we thought it would be just right for two pre-schoolers, one toddler and my friend’s nine-month-old baby.

On reflection, perhaps we should have realised what kind of treat we were in for.

Once we’d had a somewhat-disastrous go on the tombola (Harry won some talcum powder which didn’t go down that well) and distracted the kids from Harry's lacking prize with handfuls of sweets, it was time to meet Santa at his magical Christmas grotto.

Well, the grotto. Well, quite a grotty grotto actually.

It was a plywood shed, with a plastic ‘winter wonderland’ picture stapled on. There was also a wonky pole that someone had stuck a piece of paper to, reading, “Welcome to the North Pole”.

Santa was wearing one of those lightweight costumes that costs about a fiver – people buy them to go drinking in, not to bring magic to the hearts of little children.

Fortunately, our collective brood were awed by the magic of a big sack of chocolate at Santa’s feet and somehow didn’t seem to notice Santa’s black stubble peeking out from under his white beard.

Santa sat Harry on his knee and asked what he wanted for Christmas. “Hot Wheels please, Santa,” Harry whispered.

“Don’t forget to tell your mum,” replied Santa, before giving Harry a variety bag of Cadbury’s and letting him slide off his knee. He didn’t even say “Ho ho ho,” Santa’s only scripted line.

Now you’re probably thinking that I am just ungrateful. That Santa was someone’s dad who had good-naturedly volunteered to don the beard and bring cheer to little children. You might be thinking that I’m making a fuss about a good bloke doing a good deed. You might even think I am being unreasonable.

But I think these cheap Santas are bringing down Christmas. There’s no magic in a bloke wearing a £5 suit with Nike trainings poking out of the bottom.

Luckily, Harry was so overcome at meeting his hero that he didn’t question that Santa looked pretty rubbish. He didn’t even question when Santa left and a bloke called Brian in the exact same trainers and glasses came back a few minutes later.

My plea? If you can’t afford to rent a decent costume or get a good actor then don’t have Santa. He doesn’t need to be everywhere. I’d rather my kids saw a really good Father Christmas just once than met a shoddy Santa at every toddler group, café and garden centre we go to.

Oh I know you’re thinking I should be more forgiving – after all, it’s Christmas. Well bah, I say. Humbug.

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What do you think, is our mum blogger being unreasonable? Or should Santas have standards? Have your say using the comments below.