Once upon a time there was a fish called Bob. Bob lived under the sea with his best friend Colin the Crab and other assorted underwater creatures.

One Christmas Eve, Bob and Colin were at home watching TV. The screen showed a grainy, shaky image of a man putting lights on a Christmas tree. His son was dancing and jumping up and down in excitement as Dad, with a cigarette dangling from his lower lip, flicked the switch on the plug socket to activate the lights. When nothing happened, he screwed his face up and barked angrily. Some of his words were obliterated by a high pitched bleep.

'Wot's - bleep - in' up wiv 'em?' he shouted, banging the plug with his fist.

The picture wobbled, and Mum - who was presumably doing the filming - shouted back.

'Don' - bleep - in' swear in front of the boy, you - bleep - in' -bleep.'

'Oh - bleep - off you great fat - bleep,' he responded, tugging at the cable leading into the plug.

Suddenly there was a loud pop and a bright flash of light. Dad, his hand gripped firmly around the cable, let out an anguished scream and began to shake violently. His son's confusion quickly turned to fright and, not knowing what else to do, he stood and screamed back. Meanwhile Mum, immediately sensing the value of the video she was making, continued to film.

As the electrocution progressed, Dad screamed again, his cigarette dropped from his mouth and landed on his 80% polyacramide jumper. The boy looked on in abject horror as Dad, still shaking, was rapidly consumed by dark smoky flames. Mum, still filming, could be heard sniggering.

'Bleep - in' twonk,' she said. 'Better chuck some - bleep - in' water on 'im, I s'pose.'

'Oh .. my .. Oliver!' Colin gulped in horror and disbelief as the video clip ended.

Bob, meanwhile, was in uncontrollable hysterics.

'You think that's funny!' Colin exclaimed. 'It's horrible. A little kiddie seeing his father burn to death at Christmas!'

'Don't be stupid Colin, it's not real. It's just a comedy show.'

'On ITV, are you kidding? This is The 100 Worst Family Christmas Home Video Death Disasters From Hell ... Get Me Out Of Here!'

'Oh,' said Bob. 'Really? That actually happened?'

'Yes!'

'Oh well, never mind! It's Christmas Eve, why don't you open the last door on the advent calendar, that'll cheer you up!'

Colin scurried across to the wall where the advent calendar had been pinned, a little too high for him to reach comfortably. He bounced up and down, snapping away at the last unopened door. After 20 minutes of jumping and clawing, he finally managed to coax it open before falling into an exhausted heap on the floor.

'Well, what is it?' Bob asked.

'It's a dead chicken,' Colin panted in confusion. 'That's not very Christmassy, is it?'

Bob shook his head sadly. 'What's happened to Christmas? It used to be the best time of year. Snow, cosy nights in, mulled wine, carols. Now it's rain, wind, dads on fire and dead chickens. What is the world coming to?'

'Well, at least Father Christmas hasn't abandoned us,' said Colin. 'He'll be here tonight, just like he is every Christmas. He'd never let us down.'

'Yes, absolutely. He'd never let us down,' said Bob.

Bob and Colin paused for the inevitable fly in the ointment to present itself. Sure enough, a video of a woman being disembowelled by a faulty turkey-stuffing machine was interrupted by a newsflash.

'Father Christmas has retired!' said the newsreader. 'We go straight over to Justin Two-Bob in our Helsinki studio, where Father Christmas has agreed to give us an exclusive interview.'

The shot changed to show a sombre looking man, who sadly restated what the newsreader had said. To his left sat Father Christmas, though not in his usual clothes. He had on a bright orange jumper, and sat patiently with his hands folded across his rotund stomach.

'Good morning, Father Christmas,' said Justin Two-Bob. 'Welcome to the studio.'

'Hello Justin,' Father Christmas replied croakily. 'And please, call me Mick. Father Christmas is no more.'

'Mick? Is that your real name?'

'It is now I've retired. I had to decide on something, I kind of like that name. I didn't want to get stuck with a label like "The Fat Bloke Formerly Known As Father Christmas"'.

'Er, okay,' Justin stuttered. 'So, Mick, why have you decided to retire?'

Mick coughed. 'Excuse me, Justin. I'm a little hoarse.'

Justin pushed a carafe of water across the studio desk. 'Help yourself,' he said.

'Hmm,' said Mick. 'Haven't you got anything a little less tasteless?'

Justin pondered. 'I think there's a carton of Ribena in the staffroom fridge.'

'I was thinking of something a little more warming, if you know what I mean.'

'Coffee, tea? Or - '.

'Justin,' Mick interrupted, leaning forward in his seat and speaking in confidential tones. 'How about a glass of sherry and a nice fat mince pie?'

'Well, it's a little early, but I'm sure we can - '

'Thank you,' said Mick, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands back across his stomach. Studio staff rallied around to put his request together. When it arrived, on a silver-plated tray, he sipped at his schooner of sherry and took a dainty nibble at his mince pie, cautiously examining the contents before taking a second bite.

'Is that okay for you Mick?' Justin asked.

'Some people go to the trouble of warming the pie, and blatting an unrealistically large blob of cream on top, but It'll do, I suppose. At least there are no razor blades in this one, that's been happening more and more, over the years.'

'Razor blades?' said Justin in disbelief. 'Are you serious?'

'Sadly, yes, I am. Last year I took a huge bite out of a pie without checking, and half of my beard dropped off. The sherry turned out to be poo juice.'

'Poo juice? What's that?'

'I really don't know, but I can't imagine what else it could have been.'

Justin shook his head. 'Is this why you've decided to retire, Mick?'

Mick nodded resolutely, pie crumbs raining down from his voluminous beard. 'That's right Justin. I always said to myself, if naughtiness ever becomes greater than niceness, I would jack this in. Year after year things have been getting steadily worse, and now it's finally happened: there are more naughty children in the world than there are nice. So, I'm hanging up my boots. Simple as that, ho bleedin' ho.'

'Tell me, Mick, what evidence do you have that naughtiness has increased such an extent?'

'I made a list, and I checked it twice. That's good enough for me.'

'What about all the nice children in the world, don't you think that you're letting them down? How do you think they'll feel when they wake up on Christmas morning to find an empty sack at the foot of their beds.'

'Yes, I admit I do feel sorry for them, but I'm afraid the world is a different place than when I started this lark. The way things are going, I confidently predict that all children will be naughty within the next five years, and I'm getting out of this game before that happens, it simply isn't safe anymore. It's not just worms and razor blades in mince pies, you know. Gangs of kids lie in wait on rooftops and pelt me and the reindeer with stones - some of them really do have red noses. Once, the little bleeders even took the sleigh for a joy ride while I was delivering presents. I had to shimmy down the side of a block of flats then wander the streets to look for it. I found it burnt out in a field, the reindeer shivering with fright. I can't be doing with that sort of thing.'

'No, of course not Mick.'

'There was a time when all the children would be tucked up and fast asleep in bed when I sneaked into their bedrooms on Christmas Eve, their faces a picture of absolute, perfect contentment, no doubt dreaming of the day to come. Nowadays they're sitting there watching TV or playing with their Z-Boxes or whatever they're called, shooting people's faces off, smoking, swearing and drinking. They still don't notice me, but now it's because they just don't care anymore. All the magic is being sucked out of Christmas, and soon there won't be any left at all.'

'Mick, we're running out of time. One last question; what are you going to do with the reindeer?'

'I haven't decided yet. I was thinking of putting them on e-Bay. Failing that, I have a good recipe book.'

'Mick, the fat bloke formerly known as Father Christmas, thank you.'

'Great,' Colin sighed, flicking off the TV. 'Rain, wind, dads on fire, dead chickens, and now no Santa! This is shaping up to be the worst Christmas ever.'

'Not necessarily,' said Bob, floating down from his chair.

'What do you mean?' Colin asked naively.

Bob puffed out his chest confidently, revved up his new bionic engine and declared: 'Colin, we are going to deliver those presents to all the children!'

'That's impossible!' said Colin.

'Nothing's impossible,' said Bob confidently, 'especially as now I have my bionic powers. Let's go!'

'Where to?'

'We're going to see Father Christmas,' said Bob, swimming towards the door. 'I might have super bionic strength, Colin, but even I won't be able to carry all those presents. We'll need to borrow the sleigh and the reindeer.'

'Wait! You're forgetting something.'

'Am I? Oh, yes, of course,' said Bob apologetically. 'I forgot. First I need to go to the toilet, don't I?'

'Yes. Not just any old toilet though.'

Bob screwed his face up in concentration for a moment. 'Is it the Bumper Dumper^TM? No, we've done that one,' he muttered to himself. 'Ah!' he exclaimed. 'Yes! My Baxter's Christmas BingeMaster^TM. With it's extra capacity tank and vacuum assisted grinder, Your Christmas Log Won't Clog The Bog ^TM'

'Well done,' said Colin, 'now let's go!'

The vast, desolate snow-covered plains of Lapland seemed to go on forever. Bob and Colin emerged from the freezing sea and trundled across mile upon mile of featureless, blinding white landscape.

'It's a bit nippy, isn't it?' said Colin, as he scurried along, his claws chattering together rapidly.

'Yeah,' said Bob nonchalantly.

'You don't seem to care much, considering you're cold-blooded too. What happens when our blood freezes?'

'Well, I expect you'll just burst open. I'm alright, I've got my bionic engine running in reverse to keep me warm.'

'Great, as long as you're alright. Never mind Colin the Crab.'

'Oh don't start all that again,' Bob sighed, turning his fish-eyes to the sky.

'So why isn't this story called Bob and Colin's Christmas Adventure, anyway?'

'We've been through all this,' said an exasperated Bob. 'I'm the star, Colin! I'm the one that everybody wants to read about. You're just put in for contrast.'

Colin tutted. 'Well, I'm going to get a spin-off series of my own, and you're not going to be in it!' he said angrily.

'Colin, old chum, why don't you give it a rest? You had your moment of glory in The Snare Of The Fish Lady, isn't that enough? You are only a crab, after all. I am Bob the Fish! Bob the Bionic Fish! If you had a series of your own nothing would happen. You'd just be sitting there watching TV with some poor substitute for a friend, just like you did in the last story.'

'This is all the thanks I get for saving your life! I wish I hadn't bothered!'

'You don't mean that!' Bob laughed. 'You were babbling like a whelk at my funeral.'

'Well, I'm going to do something heroic in this story, you'll see.'

'That's fine, just don't try to upstage me. Ah! There it is, Santa's Grotto!' Bob said with some relief. 'Can we get on with it now?'

'Okay,' said Colin sulkily.

Bob and Colin approached a well-weathered, green wooden door set into a small mound of snow. The doorway was blocked by a pile of frozen, dead postmen. Out of the pile a rigid hand was sticking out, reaching for the letterbox, holding a pile of envelopes.

'Oh my Oliver! What's this?' Colin cried.

'All Santa's letters are hand delivered,' Bob explained, shifting the bodies out of the way. 'Most of the postmen never make it.'

'That's terrible!'

'I know. Little do the kiddies know that, every time they send a letter to Santa, they are almost certainly sending an innocent man to his death, and some other kiddie's dad will be coming home for Christmas in a freezer bag.'

Colin shook his head sadly. 'Rain, wind, dads on fire, dead chickens, no Santa and now frozen postmen! It puts everything into perspective. I'm sorry Bob, I didn't mean to get angry before.'

'That's okay Colin,' Bob smiled, tapping the knocker on the door. 'You're only crustacean after all.'

'I expected Santa's Grotto to be a bit bigger than this. This is smaller than a garden shed.'

'This is only the entrance, I think. The grotto is underground.'

Soon there was the sound of a commotion coming from the other side of the door. Little, tweeny voices could be heard arguing about who was going to open it, until finally it swung out to reveal a dozen elves blocking the doorway. They were small, wrinkly green-skinned creatures, all wearing red velvet tunics and three-quarter length black trousers. They scrambled and clawed over one another, squealing things like 'Hello!', 'How can I help?', and 'Welcome!' simultaneously, each attempting to force their way to the front of the melée.

'Er, hello,' said Bob. 'I am Bob the Fish and - I'm very proud to say - this is my good friend Colin the Crab.'

Colin blushed. 'We're here to see Father Christmas,' he said.

'Bob the Fish!' said a loud booming voice. Out of the darkness behind the elves the figure of Father Christmas appeared, wearing a kitchen apron stained with dark purple smears. He grabbed elves at random and pushed them gently out of the way. 'Go downstairs and make a sofa for our guests, that'll keep you out of trouble for a while.'

The elves quickly disappeared behind Father Christmas as he stepped out and shook Bob's fin enthusiastically. 'Pleased to meet you Bob the Fish! And you must be Colin the Crab, I suppose,' he added, grabbing one of Colin's claws. 'My you're cold, come in to the Grotto, and we'll soon have you warmed up!'

Inside Father Christmas led the way down some narrow, icy steps that seemed to go on forever. The walls were lit by flickering candles, and as they descended Bob and Colin felt gradually warmer.

'I'm sorry about the elves,' Father Christmas began to explain. 'They finished making this year's batch of presents back in November, and by now they'd have started on next year's lot. Since I've retired though, there's nothing for them to do. It's very difficult for them - elves just can't entertain themselves. They have to be doing something for people otherwise they have no reason to exist. I've been giving them all kinds of jobs to do, but there are so many of the little blighters, I'm running out of ideas.'

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Bob and Colin found themselves in a cavernous living area, decorated with holly and mistletoe. In one corner, next to a roaring log fire, a Christmas tree spiralled up to the tall ceiling, glistening with tinsel and soft red lights. On top sat an elf wearing a fairy costume, looking to be in some agony.

'Please, take a seat,' said Father Christmas, beckoning Bob and Colin towards a curious looking sofa. It seemed to be made up of flaps of green skin and random patches of red and black material. It also appeared to be breathing.

'That's one thing I've found for the elves to do,' Father Christmas explained, 'they're very malleable creatures, and can fashion themselves into almost any item of furniture. Don't worry about them, take a seat; they'll be disappointed if you don't.'

Bob and Colin sat on the sofa, which groaned and sputtered.

'Are they okay?' Colin asked.

'Of course they are, they're happy to help. You just make yourselves comfortable and don't concern yourself. Have a nibble on one of my sausages!'

'Oh, Santa!' Colin exclaimed in shock.

Father Christmas gave Colin a suspicious look. 'Santa is no more, call me Mick,' he said, holding out a plate piled high with steaming sausages. They were all dark and badly misshapen, except for half a dozen or so on top, which at least resembled something you might be comfortable calling a sausage. 'It takes some getting used to, this cooking lark,' he continued. 'I got the hang of it in the end though. Go on! Take one, they taste better than they look.'

Colin took a sausage from the pile and sniffed it cautiously before taking a bite. 'Mmm! These are wonderful!' he exclaimed.

'Help yourself, there's plenty more where those came from. Don't wait to be asked!'

'Okay!' said Colin with glee, taking another sausage from the pile.

'So, how's your retirement going Father - er, Mick?' Bob asked.

'Yes, I didn't think this was a casual visit,' Mick replied, placing the mound of sausages on a table and plopping himself down in an elf-armchair opposite. His seat gasped and wheezed as he shuffled around to make himself comfortable. There was a muffled pop, then a puddle of green gloop seeped out at the base and spread across the dark wooden floor. Colin thought he could hear soft crying coming from somewhere within.

'Well,' Mick continued, oblivious, 'I'm learning to cook for the first time, as you can see. I have to confess that I miss the whole Father Christmas thing, but as long as there's more naughtiness than niceness, I'm having nothing to do with it.'

'I'll get straight to the point Mick,' said Bob, 'that's why we're here. Colin and I are going to deliver all the presents this year!'

'What?' said Father Christmas in surprise. 'Well, if anyone could do it, I'm sure it would be you Bob, but it's no easy task. Do you know how many children there are in the world?'

Bob shrugged. 'A hundred?' he ventured.

'Twenty?' said Colin.

Mick laughed and shook his head. 'Oh dear, no ho no! That's way off.

'Twenty-five?'

'Ho, no, ho,' Mick laughed. 'More like one billion!'

'One what?' said Bob.

'I've never heard of a billion before,' said Colin. 'Is that bigger than a thousand?'

'A lot bigger. A billion is a thousand thousand thousand,' Mick replied.

'Oliver's trousers!' Colin exclaimed.

'There's not a moment to lose then,' said Bob, jumping down from the sofa. 'Let's go!'

'Well, okay,' said Mick, 'But I'll have to tell you a few things first. I'll do that while the elves get the sleigh and reindeer ready.'

Mick led Bob and Colin out into another massive cavern. In the centre of the floor stood the huge sleigh, glittering gold by the light of the myriad candles in holders jutting out of the walls. On one side of the cavern eight stables were lined up, each with the name of a reindeer on the door. Colin scurried along in excitement and peered into them one by one.

'Dasher! Dancer! Prancer! Vixen! Comet! Cupid! Blitzen! Don - ' he stopped at the last, empty stable. 'Where's Donner?' he asked.

'I put him on e-Bay,' said Mick. 'I didn't think I'd need the reindeer again, and I wanted to see if I would get any interest.'

'You sold Donner on e-Bay?' said Colin in disbelief. 'Then we must get him back!'

'I didn't say I sold him on e-Bay, just that I put him on there. He didn't get beyond the reserve price, so I didn't sell him in the end.'

'Well, that's a relief,' said Colin. 'Where is he then, getting some exercise?'

'Not exactly,' said Mick sheepishly. 'Well, you see, Colin, well, it's - it's difficult - ' he stuttered.

'Sausages,' Bob interrupted. 'Donner went into those sausages.'

Colin gagged and started to turn green. 'You mean, I ... ate Donner?' he said, aghast.

'Yes, but look on the positive side,' said Mick. 'We still have seven reindeer, which is more than enough to pull the sleigh, and we have a plate of lovely fresh sausages and enough meat left over for another recipe!'

'Well,' said Colin. 'I suppose they were nice sausages.'

'That's the Christmas spirit!' said Bob.

The elves, grateful of something to do other than simulate soft furnishings, set about loading the sleigh with all the presents and preparing the reindeer while Mick gave Bob and Colin a crash course in how to steer.

'If you forget everything else, make sure you remember this,' said Mick, as Bob and Colin prepared for the off. 'Not a lot of people know this, but the magic in the reindeer that enables them to fly only works at night.'

'So if we're still outside when the sun rises, they'll stop flying and we'll fall?' Colin asked.

'The effect is a little more drastic, they won't simply stop flying. If the reindeer are ever out in sunlight, they'll explode!'

'The things they don't tell you about Christmas, honestly,' said Colin. 'Rain, wind, dads on fire, dead chickens, no Santa, frozen postmen and now: exploding reindeer!'

'Don't worry, it's never happened before,' said Mick, 'just make sure you're back in time.'

The elves finished harnessing the reindeer and Mick gave Bob and Colin each a warm coat and a woolly hat. Pale moonlight bled into the cavern as a huge sliding cover set into the roof moved to one side, and the reindeer automatically gathered speed and swooped up into the air. Elves cheered, Mick clapped, while Bob and Colin held on tight as the reindeer corkscrewed upwards and out across a glittering, white-blanketed world.

'Mick suggested we get the nastiest places out of the way first,' said Bob, grasping the reins firmly with his bionic fins. 'He's written a list for us.'

'Where to in the World first then?' shouted Colin, against the sound of the cold wind whistling past.

'A place called Feltham. It's in West London.'

Soon the sleigh was spiralling down towards the lights of Feltham. The place was a hodge-podge of crumbling tower blocks, burnt out cars and shuttered, abandoned shops. People on fire staggered around amongst bodies strewn about the snow-covered streets, in various stages of intoxication or decay. Approximately every three seconds, a window shattered and somebody flew out of it, often many storeys up. Below, a train pulled into a station, and a group of youths immediately surrounded it and stole the wheels, jacking it up on bricks.

'Nasty,' said Colin.

'Let's get this over with,' Bob replied.

He bought the sleigh down to land on the roof of the first of a ramshackle terrace of houses. In the front garden a man was barking at a dog: 'Stop smokin' me fags, y' - bleep - in' mutt!' he shouted. Seeing the sleigh, he turned his attention to Bob and Colin. 'Oy! Lend us 20p for the - bleep - in' phone mate!'

Bob grabbed a present from the sleigh and dropped it into Colin's lap. 'You can do the first one,' he said. 'We'll take turns. I'll watch the reindeer.'

'Thanks,' said Colin sarcastically.

'You did say you wanted to do something heroic. Now's your chance.'

Colin wasn't sure how to respond to this blatant piece of manipulation, but before he could protest Bob nudged him off the sleigh. Deciding it was probably best to just get the job done quickly, he scurried up the side of the chimney. Just as he was about to jump in a brick whooshed past his head.

'Oy, crab, get off me - bleep - in roof!' the man shouted, taking aim with another brick. This time he scored a direct hit and Colin dropped the present down the chimney as he was hit square in the chest. He bounced and slid down the roof, lost a claw in the guttering, and landed on the pavement below.

A red mist formed before Bob's big fish-eyes. He gave the man a piercing stare. The bionic engine in his tail revved up to maximum power.

'Yeah, wot y'gonna do about it y' - bleep - in' fish - bleep - ?' the man shouted, tossing another brick. It bounced off Bob's body without effect.

Meanwhile, Colin was trying without success to climb up the drainpipe of the house while a group of greasy children threw empty alcopop bottles at him. Just as he was about to lose his last ounce of strength, Bob shot around the corner, a jet of flame shooting from his tail, and flew Colin back to safety on the roof, gathering up the claw on the way.

'I'm done for,' Colin sputtered. 'All because I tried to be the hero.'

'Don't be silly, we'll have you patched up in no time,' Bob replied. 'And you were the hero, Colin. You delivered the first present!'

'I did?' Colin smiled briefly, before reverting to an expression of agony. 'What happened to you, anyway? You're covered in bits of meat.'

'I don't know,' said Bob. 'I can't remember.'

'What do you mean? What happened to the man?'

'He ran away, I think.'

Colin looked down at the garden, where the dog was lapping at a dark puddle on the ground. 'It looks like he left quite a bit of himself behind,' he said suspiciously.

'Well, no-one hurts my mate Colin, that's all,' said Bob. 'I gave him a good fish-slapping, but I kind of forgot about my new strength. I got a bit carried away, I think.'

Colin laughed. 'Nice one Bob! He won't be doing that again in a hurry!'

'He won't be doing anything again ever. Never mind all that anyway,' said Bob, wiping himself down. 'What's one billion minus one?'

'No idea, why?'

'Because that's how many presents we still have to deliver before sunrise. Let's move!'

Some time later, still in Feltham, Bob climbed up the side of the sleigh and flumped down in his seat with a resigned puff. He had a dart sticking out of one of his gills, which Colin tugged out and threw away. Colin himself was liberally patched with Shellotape.

'What happened?' he asked.

'An ambush,' said Bob, panting heavily. 'They were waiting for me, they had the fireplace surrounded. Darts, air pistols, blowpipes, bottles, stones, you name it. You wouldn't have stood a chance, old pal.'

'This is too much!'

'You're right, this is hard work Colin,' he said, 'even for a bionic fish. How many have we done now?'

'Seven,' said Colin wearily.

'Is that all?' said Bob in disbelief. 'If we carry on at this rate, how many should we get done before sunrise?'

'About fifteen.'

'What!'

'Let's face it,' said Colin, 'we can't do this. We should just give up and return everything to Mick. He'll understand.'

'No way!' said Bob. 'Bob the Fish never gives up! Never!'

'Well you better come up with an idea then, and soon.'

'There must be a way! I'm smaller and more agile than Mick, and he isn't even bionic! How does he do it?'

'Dur!' Colin exclaimed. 'Everyone knows that. He stops time!'

'He does what?'

'Father Christmas can stop time. How else do you think he does all this work in one night? It must take him years to deliver all those presents, but while he's doing it, time is suspended, so it doesn't matter how long it takes. To everyone else in the world, it's as if just a single night has passed.'

Bob shook his head in defeat. 'I didn't know that. We've got absolutely no hope then.'

'I don't think so.'

'Wait!' Bob cried suddenly. He thought for a moment, double-checking an inspirational idea that had popped into his head courtesy of the bionic chip embedded in his brain. 'I've got it! 'I've got the answer!'

'You have? What is it?'

'Never mind Colin, there's not a moment to lose!' said Bob, rousing the reindeer. They galloped off the roof, swept up into the sky and soared up towards the top of a tall and particularly nasty looking block of flats. Although it was very early in the morning, almost all of the lights were on inside. Screaming, swearing and shouting leaked out of the windows, punctuated by the regular sounds of doors slamming and glass breaking.

'What are we doing?' Colin asked.

'There's no time to explain. Unload the presents, all of them,' said Bob, as he bought the sleigh down on top of the building.

'Why?' Colin asked.

'There's no time to explain!' Bob repeated. He jumped off the sleigh and disappeared into the stairwell of the building. After some time he returned with a dozen children sauntering in tow. They were of various ages, but all were smoking cigarettes, drinking and cussing. In spite of all the noise they were generating, they weren't actually talking; preferring to hold conversations by texting each other on their mobile phones.

'Climb aboard!' said Bob, ushering them into the empty sleigh, 'quickly!'

'Awright fish, keep yer scales on,' said one boy, sniggering at his poor excuse for a joke. His face was mottled with zits, in various stages of maturity. One of the other children texted ":) nice 1 wayne" to him.

'Oy, fish!' said a girl, looking up from her phone. 'Where we goin' again?'

'We're going for a joy ride in the sleigh,' said Bob, as if he'd already had to repeat this several times. 'Then we're going to set fire to some dogs and murder some old people in their beds.'

"WKD!" the girl replied, in a text to one of the other children.

Bob made some more trips down into the flats, and before long the sleigh was chock-full of obnoxious children. Up front, Colin was covered in cigarette butts, held together with tobacco-tainted spit.

'What's this all about?' he asked, as Bob jumped aboard.

'You'll find out soon enough. Let's go, quickly!' Bob replied. Colin tugged hard on the reins and the sleigh shot into the sky like a bullet, while Bob pointed the direction for him to follow. The children in the back began to scream and whoop in excitement. Occasionally an empty can of super strength lager flew over Bob and Colin's heads and hit one of the reindeer.

Soon they were speeding across the open, moonlit sea. By this time, the children were so busy texting one another that they didn't notice as Bob told a confused Colin to bring the sleigh to a halt.

'So what now?' Colin asked.

Bob grabbed the reins with Colin and gave them a hard tug with super-bionic strength. 'Hold on tight and don't let go,' he said.

The reindeer shot up into the sky almost vertically; the children in the back screamed with terror and delight. Bob continued to pull hard as they looped up and over, then he eased off the reins and they came to a halt upside-down in mid-air. There was a microsecond of still, silent confusion before everyone dropped like stone. Bob and Colin dangled from the reins as the massive clump of children fell towards the sea, their screams fading slowly into silence. A few managed to text "wotz goin on?" before they smacked into the surface of the cold water with a loud splash. Miraculously, no-one was injured. Predictably, they all subsequently drowned.

'What are we doing!' Colin exclaimed, as Bob righted the sleigh and steered it back towards land.

'There isn't time to explain!' said Bob yet again, 'We've got about five more loads to do and get back to Lapland before the sun comes up!'

Later, as the merest hint of sunlight began to lighten an inky black sky, the sleigh, reloaded with all the presents, was speeding over Lapland, back towards Mick's Grotto.

'Bob!' Colin shouted.

'What?'

'What do you mean "what"? Isn't it about time you told me what's going on?' Colin demanded.

'What do you mean?' said Bob.

'I mean, Bob The so-called Fish, why have we just drowned hundreds of kiddies? At Christmas!'

'You'll see,' said Bob. Colin shook his head in exasperation.

Back at the Grotto, Mick was in his kitchen, standing over a huge pot of soup bubbling on the stove. He dipped a fingertip in and sucked some green, steaming gloop off the end.

'Hmm,' he said, 'a little more elf, I think.'

He jumped as the kitchen door burst open and Bob and Colin rushed in.

'Mick!' Bob cried. 'You have to deliver the presents!'

'You're back at last!' Mick replied. 'I was getting a little concerned, the sun will be up in half an hour. You're just in time to try some of my soup.'

'Mick, please listen! You can deliver the presents now!'

'You obviously didn't get everything done in time. I have to say I'm not surprised Bob, but ten out of ten for trying. How many presents did you manage to deliver in total?'

'Seven,' said Colin.

'Oh dear, well at least there will be a handful of happy children when the sun comes up. I'm sorry Bob, like I said, I'm retired.'

'Mick, trust me,' Bob implored. 'Please, check your list again!'

'But I'm right in the middle of this recipe, it'll be ruined.'

'Please!' Bob pleaded.

After much persuasion, Mick finally relented and went through his list once more.

'This is incredible!' he said. 'Somehow, overnight, the balance has shifted! There are now more nice children than naughty! How did this happen?'

'We drowned a load of - ' started Colin.

'I guess you must have made a mistake,' Bob interrupted, nudging Colin hard.

'But that isn't possible, is it? I've never made a mistake before.'

'Never mind that, you can deliver the presents now!' said Bob.

'It's a little late, isn't it?'

'It doesn't matter - you can stop time!' said Colin.

'Of course I can!'

'Go Mick, go!' Bob and Colin shouted in unison.

Mick stood up and headed towards the door, before turning round to look at Bob with admiration. The smallest yet biggest smile came upon his lips, and his eyes twinkled. 'I know that list was correct, Bob - I checked it twice. I don't know how you did it, but you did something magical last night. You've saved Christmas, and the world is a better place thanks to you, Bob the Fish!'

'Colin helped a bit too, Mick,' said Bob.

'Yes, I'm sure he did. But please, Mick is no more. Call me Father Christmas!'

Early on Christmas morning, Colin scurried excitedly into Bob's room.

'Bob!' he said, 'wake up! Santa's been!'

Bob swam into the front room with Colin to find two bulging sacks, full to the brim with assorted Christmas goodies. What was most impressive though was a table, it's legs buckling with the weight of all the food on top, laid ready in the centre of the room.

'Wow! Look at all this food!' Colin exclaimed. 'There's a note too!' he said, grabbing an envelope and handing it to Bob.

It was addressed "To Bob (and Colin)". Bob opened it and read aloud.