It’s always the same in our house at Christmas. Even though it’s blazing summer here in New Zealand, our family insists on doing the full-blown Northern Hemisphere thing on Christmas day. Roast fowls, scads of roast veges, and a monstrous plum pudding. Needless to say, with temperatures into the 30s, no-one’s really in the mood, and even the tribe of relatives who descend on us can’t make much of a dent in it.

The beauty of that is that we can blob out and live on left-overs for the next three days. Boxing Day (), weather permitting, we pack the barbie (*) and head off to the beach for the day, picking up a fair degree of sunburn along the way. Us kids think mum’s got too much of a thing about using sunscreen, and those hats just aren’t cool. Girls are not interested in nerds wearing sun hats.

( December 26. * barbeque) Now, this story really begins a couple of days later. Dad, Mum, Katie my sister, and me were lounging on the back lawn at home, with the remains of a yet another barbeque scattered on plates round our chairs. Inside the house the two twins were doing their best to tear each other’s throats out over who gets to have control of Minecraft.

“What a blow-out!” groaned Dad. “Almost as good as Christmas day, Nora.”

“That raises another issue,” pipes up Katie. “Why do we have to have such a huge Christmas dinner. It’s too hot for that.”

Mum was horrified. “Because it’s part of the Christmas tradition!” she cried.

“I thought you’d be glad of a change,” I said, “Getting Dad to cook instead of wearing yourself to a frazzle.”

“Your mother’s right,” Dad chimed in. “We can’t destroy our heritage just on a whim.” Anything that put all the work on mum was fine by him.

“It’s hard to believe it’s already three days since Christmas,” says Katie.

“From the broken toys lying round I could easily believe it’s longer,” Mum grizzled.

Now here’s where things got really weird. A stranger – yet not a stranger – bustled into the yard, decked out in a full Santa Claus costume. He looks the full monte, except for a lack of reindeer. And he’s carrying a clipboard. Needless to say, we do a double-take at the sight, not sure whether it’s Uncle Harry in another of his practical jokes. We honestly didn’t know to make of it.

Dad quickly checks the date on his watch calendar. “Er, are you Father Christmas, or are we on ‘Naked Home Video’?”

“No, this is perfectly legit. I am Father Christmas,” the intruder says. “Hope you’ll pardon the lack of reindeer, but they’ve been grounded because of the threat of another air traffic controllers’ strike.”

Dad nodded understandingly. “But why are you here? Getting in early orders for next year? he asked, pointing to the clipboard.

“No, I’m doing a survey,” the character said. (I’m going to call him Santa, for lack of evidence to the contrary.) “Have to keep up with the times, you see. Quality control and customer satisfaction is the name of the game these days. They’ve knocked back my ISO 9000 application until I comply. So I’d like to run through a few questions with you if I may, to check whether you had the Christmas you were expecting from me.”

“I’m sure that’s perfectly okay with us,” said mum, a bit non-plussed. “Here, it’s too hot to be running around in that stuffy outfit. Take off your jacket and have a cool drink while we talk.”

“Thanks,” says Santa. “Well, I’ll cover the obvious first. Presents? Did they come up to standard this year?”

“The computer certainly seems to be a hit,” says Dad. (The racket from inside was indicating that the word “hit” has a double meaning in this case.) “They’ve monopolised it since it arrived. Mind you, I had hoped they’d do something more constructive with it than just play games. And they can’t seem to do even that without fighting.”

There was the sound of all-out war and a loud crash from the direction of the computer room. Dad leaps out of his chair. “Why can’t you kids play for five seconds without gouging each other’s eyes out! he yelled as he exited on the run.

“Do you supply technical support?” I asked. “ I think we’re going to need it.”

“Sorry, I just supply them, I don’t fix them.”

“I thought you said you were into quality control?” I pointed out. “Doesn’t that include after-sales service?”

“Yes, but only when you operate according to the maker’s instructions,” he replied. “Mind you, that applies to more than just toys.”

“What do you mean? asked Katie.

“Would you try and learn to use a computer without a set of guidelines?” Santa asked.

“Don’t be a dork,” she responded.

“I keep telling her, this year’s number one hot tip is ‘Read the manual’,” I pointed out.

“Do you hear anyone saying, ‘There are no absolutes. Just do what’s right for you?’ Santa asked.

“Of course not. It’s hard enough to get it right if you follow the book,” I added.

“Convergence of standards” is the current buzz-word, I think,” Santa pontificated.

“Of course,” I acknowledged, “otherwise we’ll never realise the potential of computers.”

“Pity we can’t apply that lesson to the whole of life,” Santa observed wryly.

“This all too deep for me,” says Mum puzzled. “You asked about presents. I’m sure we were all very grateful for the things we received, even if the boys complained they didn’t get the 16-speed mountain bikes, the trailer sailer, Disneyland trip and the Destroy-the-World game kit they asked for. Nice gifts, that’s what Christmas is all about, isn’t it?”