Once upon a time (all good stories start that way,) in a land far far away (the North Pole actually,) in a huge underground cavern (known to the locals as Santa’s Workshop,) Santa was preparing everything for his Annual Toy Run, which was only a week away.
A little fairy, Nuff, (not an unusual name for a fairy – surely everyone’s heard of Fairy Nuff?) came to see him.
“Santa,’ she said, “it would seem that our Christmas tree has been overlooked this year. Do you want me to fly to Finland and bring one back?”
“Dear me!” said Santa, “how remiss! Yes please Fairy Nuff.”
So without any more ado, away flew Fairy Nuff.

It was about then that things started to go wrong for poor Santa.
One of the elves marched into his office.
“I’m Good Elf To Ya, Union Delegate for the Free Order of Elves, or FOE as we like to be known. As of 3 o’clock this afternoon we’re going on strike. We’ve kept this workshop running 24/7 for the last twelve months and we’re demanding better working conditions for a start. We also want higher wages, (at least 7 cents more per week) a paid holiday in Bermuda every summer of at least 2 hours per elf, paid elf insurance with Medicare, and…”
“Out! Out!” roared Santa “I can’t afford such profligate expenses! We run a shoestring business here! I’d be broke if I acquiesced to your demands!”
“Suit yourself,” said Good Elf To Ya, “but as of 3 o’clock we’re gone,” and he walked out.
Just then the phone rang.
“Hello,” said Santa, picking up the receiver.
“Senior Sergeant Plod from the Vice Squad,” said the caller. “Every year about this time we have multiple worldwide reports of unauthorised entries into private dwellings. We have collated these reports and have come to the conclusion that this is but one man on an annual crime spree.. We’ll be there to interrogate you at length in an hour, have your attorney available,” and hung up.
There was then a timid knock at the door.
“Come in,” said Santa.
It was reindeer Donner.
“What can I do for you?’ asked Santa.
“Umm…some of the boys and I got on the turps a bit last night,” said Donner, “and things got a bit rowdy. Blitzen has a broken leg, Prancer has a dislocated shoulder, and Rudolph walked into the edge of a door and now has one eye the size of a football and glowing brighter than his nose. We’re going to be out of action for a fortnight if not more.”
“Get out of my sight,” groaned Santa.
Just then the phone rang again.
“What!’ roared Santa as he picked it up.
“Hello,” said a voice. “Senior Inspector Clark Kent from Civil Aviation Authority. It has come to our attention that you’ve been flying around all over the place in an unlicensed unregistered unauthorised craft. Can’t have that old chap! Next thing you know there’ll be all sorts on unauthorised idiots flying about all over the place. And that’s not a very good look.
Your craft has been grounded pending inspection.”
And he hung up.
Then there was another knock at the door.
“Yes?” groaned Santa.
“It’s me, Nuff,” said a voice. “I’ve got the Christmas tree. Where shall I put it?”


And from that day forward it has become the custom to have a fairy on the top of a Christmas tree.