5بخش

This picture.

This drawing!

It isn’t of Dad or you or Steve.

This is Santa!

Ha, ha!

And as long we get the bike to Gwen before she wakes up, then Santa came!

And he cares!

Ha, ha!

Excuse!

Aah!

♪ Jingle bells, jingle bells ♪

♪ Jingle all the way ♪

♪ Oh, what fun it is to reach Gwen Hines on Christmas Day

Wah-hey!♪ ♪

♪ Jingle Bells

This boat smells ♪

♪ Three thousand miles to go ♪ ♪

Oh, dear.

I’ve seen this before.

Sleigh fever, they call it.

Pressure of Christmas sends a man doolally-tap.

Santa Claus XVI got it, 1802.

Every child that year got a sausage nailed to a piece of bark.

Unh!

Whoa!

Arthur, do you really think you can row the Atlantic Ocean in the next 37 minutes?

It’s not, unh, too late yet.

I just have to keep, unh, going.

We need a blunt instrument.

Knock him out and regroup.

Make a legal U-turn, then slight right in 4228 miles.

You do know we’re going round in circles?

You know, we’re not the only ones.

Maybe I will see Evie again.

What do you mean?

Reindeer are brave, powerful beasts but they’re also dappled cretins with twigs on their heads.

They’ll just keep going in a straight line right round the world.

They’ll be way up in the sky, flying at unimaginable speed, but they’ll pass right over our heads.

Great!

We can get the sleigh back!

Chief De Silva.

Where is this UFO?

It’s circling the Earth, ma’am.

Nineteen minutes ago, it went into orbit.

You?

Up there?

Catch that with this?

Magic dust.

You crack it over your head.

You’ll have to focus.

The sleigh’ll be coming at you at 45,000 miles an hour.

Forty Five Thousand.

You’ll be torn in half!

Depends on the angle the sleigh hits.

You might just get beheaded.

I’ve got a phobia of being beheaded, and heights and speed and reindeer and buttons.

Buttons?

Yeah, I’m pretty much scared of everything.

Gwen thinks you’re coming.

Ah!

You can’t do this.

Yes, you can!

No, you can’t.

Yes, you can!

Come on, Arthur!

Don’t worry.

Only a raving lunatic.

I have to worry!

It’s the only thing I’m good at!

Worry me.

The sleigh’ll be back any minute.

Come on.

Worry me, quickly!

Imagine Gwen, all alone, nothing under the tree.

Here we go.

Unh.

No!

Don’t like this!

Stop!

Stop!

Stop!

Get me down!

The tears as she finds she’s been left out.

Screaming, “Santa didn’t come!”

Oh, Gwen.

No!

It’s just too high!

Gwen in the street surrounded by kids on new bikes, pointing: “That’s the girl that Santa hates!”

She runs away, alcoholic by the age of 9.

Dead before she’s even.

She may never build a snowman again!

What if there are buttons on the sleigh I don’t know about?

Here it is!

Um.

How do you think he’s, uh.

Fine, fine.

Probably just, uh.

So how come they didn’t scrap the sleigh, sir?

I threatened the elves.

Said I’d feed them to the polar bears.

Whoa!

Elf, how do you fancy being the one to tell his parents about all this?

Whoa!

Whoa!

Whoa!

Yay!

Arthur!

You did it!

I did it with worry!

Oh, I was sure you’d die.

It was great!

Proceed to the highlighted route.

Proceed to the highlighted.

Just keep worrying about Gwen.

I’ll find a way there, boy.

Whatever it takes.

To Trelew!

Margaret.

Hand me my Me suit.

All sorted.

Steve’s, uh holding the fort while I deliver the present, yes, and find Arthur and Father.

Well done, dear.

Trelew’s on a course of 187.7 degrees from the geographic pole but as it’s the old sleigh, allow a drift margin of 1000 miles either side of the meridian.

Got a sweater for Arthur, your father’s pills, and some nice sweet tea.

Hm.

Curtains.

S-1 dented.

Sir.

Sir!

Big scratch down side.

“Popped out to take present.

Turkey sandwich in fridge.

Mum and Dad.

Espresso machine broken.

That idiot, Arthur.

He’s sent everyone crazy.

He’ll destroy Christmas.

And you’ll never get to be Santa.

Steven!

I, um.

23 Mimosa Avenue, Trelew.

Malcolm, there’s no harm in using a manual.

Men.

Margaret, I order you to disembark.

It’s not safe.

Unh!

Piffle.

I did a microlight flying course on the Internet.

It can’t be that different.

Oh!

Steve.

You’ve dented it!

You take it out without asking?

Malcolm, you told me he knew.

You know how Steve feels about his S-1.

It’s my S-1 .

S for “Santa.”

I’m flying to this child.

Of course she’s all that matters.

Not me, your son.

Not the 2 billion things I did right tonight.

No!

This is about that pool table, isn’t it?

I told you, you should’ve written to me.

I was 8.

You’re my dad!

For goodness sake!

Arthur and Grandsanta are out there probably not wearing nearly enough layers and you two are bickering over a big red toy?

I’m not bickering.

If Steven could just stand back.

Ooh!

Air bag.

You drive, Steven.

Thank you.

So since gift delivery to child 47785BXK is all that seems to matter, I’ll do it myself.

Then we’ll pick up Arthur and Grandsanta from whatever ditch they ended up in.

Maximum thrust.

Um, when Santa said he’d be right back, what do you think he.

He’s not coming back!

The Santas are leaving!

Children don’t matter?

Christmas doesn’t matter!

Nothing matters!

It’s like 1816!

Abandon the North Pole!

Everybody, panic!

Are you sure you want to delete Christmas?

10 minutes.

Head south!

It’s all south from here, you fool!

I know where we can find a map, lad!

A bit risky, this.

Breaking the rules, even in the old days.

There!

Biggest map in the world!

Dash!

Friends, on this night of peace, we stand confronted by an unknown danger.

Aliens.

Aliens from space.

Blast them from the skies!

Let us do an autopsy.

But maybe the aliens come in peace?

They burst an inflatable Santa Claus in Toronto On Christmas night!

What a terrible thing.

Let us attempt contact, but be ready to save our planet.

Hold tight, lad.

This is where it gets really rough.

Not now, you sack of antlers.

Alert level six.

It’s coming down through the atmosphere.

We’ll see it.

Forty-six, 45, 44, 43.

They’ll be waiting for us, sir.

We were on the news.

All their technology against my Evie.

Oh, come on.

Let’s do it with worry!

Santa mustn’t be seen, eh, lad?

Let’s give them something to shoot at.

We have visual.

Here it comes.

Take us to your leader.

Ha-ha-ha!

England!

No sign of anyone.

The sun’s coming up!

Come on, lad!

You can do it!

Move your hooves!

Mankind greets you.

Do you copy?

Season’s greetings from mankind.

Good morning, do you copy?

The hull is some kind of woody substance, ma’am.

Like wood.

Coated in lead paint.

The engine seems to be alive.

And furry.

Come on, lad!

Put your back into it!

♪ Dashing through the snow ♪

♪ In a one horse open sleigh ♪

♪ Over the fields we go ♪

♪ Laughing all the way, ha, ha, ha ♪ ♪

I have something.

It’s very faint but.

Scramble drone.

♪ Jingle bells, jingle bells Jingle all the way ♪ ♪

That’s it, there!

We made it!

Yay!

Not quite.

Dash!

It’s right up me steam pipe!

It’s tracking something electronic!

We haven’t got any “electrickery.”

Just wood and brass and.

Oh, dear.

Your slipper!

We have lock.

We got to get you down there, lad.

They’ll see us!

We’ll be stopped!

Give me that.

What are you doing?

It’s Evie they’re after.

She doesn’t fit this world, Arthur.

She’s a relic.

Evie?

I always knew she’d be needed one more time.

You go on.

We’ll let them have her.

You’re coming too.

You were right, Arthur.

It doesn’t matter how Santa’s gift gets there.

Doesn’t even matter if it’s Mr. Postman in his spaceship.

As long as it gets there.

You made it happen, lad.

No one got left out.

Get off.

Now, do as I say.

They’re firing on us!

A death ray!

Made of chocolate and oranges.

Unidentified varnished object, turn back or we shoot.

Go!

Turn back.

Happy Christmas!

In Santa we believe!

Go on, elf.

You too.

Hi-yah!

Fire missiles.

This is it, old fella.

Maybe the next Santa never sat in my Evie, but Arthur did.

And he’s as good a man as any Santa there’s ever been.

Yah!

Goodbye, Evie.

Thank you, everyone.

You just saved Christmas.

Trelew.

Out with the old, in with the new.

Well done, dear.

Poor Arthur.

He tried so hard.

He’s flunked again.

Of course he hasn’t, dear.

We’re here.

The little girl will get her present.

I think he’s done rather splendidly.

My Margaret.

Good morning, Gwen.

Ho, ho, et cetera.

Apologies for the minor delay.

I’m sure that even a child can understand that in an operation as complex as Christmas, there’s always an insignificant margin of error, which is you.

As a gesture, I’ve upgraded you to the Glamorfast Ultra X-3 which retails at 9/99 more than your requested gift.

Bigger ergo better.

If you wouldn’t mind just signing a legal waiver?

Pedro?

A boy?

A Spanish boy?

This is an error.

Now get off the bike.

Will you get.

No, no, no.

Please don’t cry.

No cry-o.

No, uh, “sob-idad.”

Uh.

It’s over a mile.

We’ve got no sleigh, no reindeer, and you can’t even walk.

What are you doing?

I can cycle!

Oi!

Come back!

What about the wrapping?

The church.

She lives by the church!

Happy Christmas, cows!

Meltdown: Ten seconds to figgy Flensburg.

Snowman.

German, leave out the carrot.

Is Santa on shoe?

What the.

Look, everyone!

It’s Arthur!

He’s delivering the present.

It’s Arthur.

Hooray for Arthur!

Meltdown paused.