It’s that time of year when staff at our titles partake in a bit of festive fun. However, this year, we’re using that age old Christmas tactic of regifting - so we’ve re-shared last year’s video.
If you didn’t see last year’s video - or have forgotten the story line - the video sees reporters trying their best to track Santa Claus after he was spotted on their patch. Hope you all enjoy!
The full poem can be found below:
‘Twas the edition before Christmas and all through the office, no reporter was stirring, not even the bosses.
The papers had gone to the printers at last, safely finished before deadline had passed.
Pages were done, there was no more to proof - reporters’ stress levels were not through the roof.
Thoughts of the pub filled their heads with much cheer, as they all pictured sipping a well deserved beer.
When on the Twitter feeds, there arose such a clatter, they frantically searched to see what was the matter.
You would never believe what readers were tweetin’ - Santa Claus had been spotted flying over Brechin.
The editor had a gleam in his eye at the news. “Get some video”, he cried. “It’d be great web views.”
“Get your notepad and pen”, he dished out the order. “Now track him down before he goes over the border.
“Get Dasher! Get, Dancer! Get, Prancer and Vixen!
“Get, Comet! And, Cupid! Oh and Donner and Blitzen! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
So out of the office, the reporters all flew, armed with equipment and in teams of two.
A look online filled them all with dismay, Santa had left Brechin and was back in his sleigh.
More searching uncovered a tweet from a bar, Santa was now on his way to Forfar.
Try as they could, they couldn’t track him down, reporters were chasing him from village to town.
From Montrose to Carnoustie and even to Kirrie - the chase was starting to get a bit silly.
No trace of Santa, they gave up the fight and returned to the office in the dead of the night.
They left for the pub in a mood of despair, when a loud sound of laughter filled the air.
There was Santa laughing as they cut their losses, as he waved out from the window of their office.
They heard him exclaim, ‘ere he dove out of sight, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”
Apologies to Clement Clarke Moore for butchering his classic Christmas poem.