“As in the portly, jolly man who delivers presents?” I questioned cautiously, still holding aloft my stick like some kind of pyjama wearing D'artagnan.

“Yeah babe, the very same.” I relaxed my stance slightly.

“You mean he’s real…really real?” Could it be the night I met Santa wasn’t a figment of my childhood imagination? My hands closed around my snowflake pendant, was my necklace a gift from St. Nick himself?

“Of course! Who do you think makes Christmas run do smoothly otherwise? Parents?”

“Er-yeah?” The snowman shook his head, and clicked his fingers.

“Oh no, they just think they do all the work. The big guy makes sure the good kids get what’s on their wish lists and the brats learn their lesson. A sprinkle of magic here and there and the non-believers are none the wiser.” I stared dumbfounded at the debonair snowman, this was perhaps the coolest thing ever! Magic! Talking snowmen! Santa! I pinched myself to check I wasn’t just in an eggnog-induced dream. Ow! This was actually happening.

“Um, sorry I threatened you with chickpea dip, can we start over?” The snowman smiled a toothy grin and gave a sharp bow.

“Sure thing,” He offered forth his icy hand which I shook quickly, wiping my soggy hands on my Pj bottoms. “Phoebus T. Sparkle at your service.” I muffled a laugh with my hand.

“Awesome name, I’m Holly Palmer.” Hmm, maybe I should add a T in there somewhere?

“Fabulous to meet you Holly. Now, we really should talk business.” Phoebus gestured to a nearby log, where I obediently took a seat, shivering as the damp seeped through my dressing gown. As if reading my mind, Mr Sparkle clicked his snowy fingers and a fire burst into life a few feet away.

“Whoa nice! Wait… You’re not going to melt or anything are you?” The snowman let out a devilish cackle.

“No worries hun, I’m an enchanted snowman. You could toss me into a volcano and I wouldn’t even defrost in the slightest.”

“Ah, but it would wreck your stylish top hat.” Phoebus clapped his hands together in glee.

“Ah, a girl with taste! You don’t know how hard it is to find somebody chic in the Artic circle, it’s all bobble-hats and bell-topped shoes with them!” I giggled, picturing him storming around the North pole like a vegetable-nosed Carson Kressley. “Anyhoo, Santa needs you to do him a favour.”

“Cool, what does he need me to do?” I asked excitedly, my mind conjuring up a variety of possibilities. Wrestle a polar bear? Decorate a ten foot Christmas tree? Fly the sleigh? Oh man, this was going to be awesome.

“He needs you to keep an eye on his son.” Hold the phone…Santa had a son?

“His son?”

“Yep, since he got thrown out of Yule Academy, Santa thought maybe a human school would sort him out, so he sent him here. You may of met him already, he‘s called-” Oh no! He couldn’t possibly be talking about… “Noel.”

This was so not cool. Where was a Christmas miracle when you needed one?