DASHER was having trouble with his face mask as Santa’s magical flying sled headed for Scottish airspace. Saint Nick was rather embarrassed about breaking the Covid prohibition on entering Scotland, but he felt justified.

First, because so many children (and not a few adults) would be deeply disappointed if they woke up on Christmas morning to find nothing under the tree. Secondly, because essential work visits were still allowed, and after one of the worst year’s in living memory a bit of cheer was definitely on the necessary list. And thirdly, if the Windsor lot could drop in for a bit of British flag-waving, then Santa Claus was not going to stay in front of the log fire on Christmas Eve for the first time ever.

Dasher was still sneezing as the green-powered reindeer sled zoomed into Scottish airspace, setting off Nato radar alarms in its wake. Santa smiled to himself. He had a present in his bottomless goody sack for the SNP defence spokesperson, Stewart McDonald. It was a plastic Airfix model of a F-35 fighter plane for Stewart to play with.

Santa always liked his annual visit to Scotland. Back in the 1950s – not so long ago, in fact – the Scots had been leery about celebrating Christmas. Folk still went to work on the 25th rather than open presents with the kids, or argue over the length of time the turkey had been in the oven or get tipsy on Buck’s Fizz at breakfast.

But the Scots had transformed themselves in recent decades, thanks in part to some fairy dust Mr Kringle had sprinkled surreptitiously over the country.

Today’s Scotland had loosened up a lot in half a century. Not only had people taken Christmas to heart, they also had the good sense to merge it with Hogmanay, to enjoy a longer Yuletide. This idea had even been taken up by their English neighbours.

An inventive bunch, those Scots. Santa thought they deserved a special present this year. In his sack he had a bumper pressie, wrapped in golden foil, for the First Minister. It was a second independence referendum. On the label it said: “To be opened and used immediately.”

Santa consulted his SatNav briefly, trying to locate the home of a politician named Richard Leonard. Worryingly, the device kept signalling: “Name not recognised”. Instead, Saint Nick swerved off to deliver a new whistle to Douglas Ross, a backbone for somebody called the Secretary of State for Scotland, and an ermine cloak to a certain Baroness Davidson. In her letter to Santa, the Baroness had demanded real ermine only. Santa smiled his jolly smile. If the FM used her referendum present, the Baroness would be back to plain Ms Davidson sooner than she bargained for.

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Santa was aware that time was pressing. He could see the faint glow of dawn and his reindeer were not as nimble as they were in their youth when the American poet Clement Clarke Moore had first christened them. Santa had been offered a rocket replacement by a Mr Elon Musk of America and South Africa. Unfortunately, Mr Musk’s rockets had a bad habit of blowing up, which would never do. Dasher sneezed again.

There were still a lot of Scottish presents to deliver. This Christmas, Santa has had thousands of letters from Celtic fans requesting a new manager. Nick ho ho-ed out loud as he remembered who his elves had chosen. Then there were all the requests for Scotland to get beyond the first round of the 2022 World Cup. Santa was a rugby sort of guy himself, but he recognised that the Scots were in mourning for their lost footie prowess. What if he used some of his magic powder to convince the Danes to pull out of the Qatar games, giving the Scottish team a better chance of winning their group?

Thinking of Denmark, Santa did a supersonic skid and dropped off a new hut for Lesley Riddoch. It was pre-wallpapered with indyref2 emblems. Next came a spectacular Faroese undersea tunnel for Angus Brendan MacNeil MP to get a direct bus to Torshavn from the Hebridies. This was not really a present for Angus but more a way of showing Scots the extraordinary art of the Faroese artist Trondur Patursson.

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It had been a bad year of the arts in Scotland, given the lockdown and no Edinburgh Festivals. But Santa was content he had delivered an early present to Glasgow writer Douglas Stuart, with the Booker prize for his first novel, Shuggie Bain.

Santa slowed the reindeer momentarily over Edinburgh to look down on the new hotel at the top of Leith Walk, otherwise known as “the Jobby”. Nick was offended by the odious carbuncle. He was sorely tempted to drop a bomb. Instead, he contented himself with giving the architects chocolate oranges that tasted foul. Yes, he knew he was getting grumpy in his old age, but why be Father Christmas if you can’t enjoy yourself occasionally?

He still had presents to give out. There were a few cases of excellent malt for the hard-working volunteers of All Under One Banner for organising the wonderful marches that kept the indy movement going in difficult days. There were sweeties for the Yes group supporters who tirelessly made the case for self-determination, in rain, hail or shine.

There were Christmas cardigans for the team at the Scottish Independence Foundation who raised the cash that oiled the wheels of the indy movement. And scarves, socks and perfume for all the bloggers and podcasters who are the backbone of the movement.

Dasher sneezed again and the reindeer did an impromptu loop the loop that nearly had Santa ejected into mid-air. They enjoyed it so much they did another loop-the-loop just for fun. Santa did a hasty check that all the presents were still in his sack. They included a copy of the original 1927 BBC motto for the bosses at Pacific Quay, the one that says: “Nation shall speak truth to nation”. Santa was not sure the BBC bosses would understand the concept of truth, or the fact that Scotland was a nation. But it was Christmas and you had to be hopeful.

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Nick looked at his old-fashioned watch with a dial. Modernity did not suit him. If he never had another Zoom call with the elves, he would not be sorry. And as for working the bloody mute button ...

Fortunately, he had made a sort of peace with Alexa. It was fun to ask for Christmas carols on demand. And the 3D laser manufacturing was a godsend to the elves. But that did not mean Santa was sympathetic to the Christmas letters he got from the latest generation of monomaniacs – the Bezoses, Gateses, Zuckerbergs and Musks – demanding to own the world. Ultimately, Christmas is about sharing and loving, not about possessing.

Nick checked who else was on his present list in Scotland. Sadly, more than 6000 names had been crossed off since last year as a result of the pandemic. There was no way this Christmas was a normal one, Santa mused. But if he could spread a little cheer amid the gloom, that would suffice. On to 2021!