What do you get if you cross an eight-foot robot, two Santas, a snowman and a Mayor?

Where’s the grotto. No, really where is the grotto. I’m beginning to panic as I peer over the escalator handrail.

This is rather a vital question as it is where us elves are meant to be meeting.

As I reach firm ground I am taken aback. The grotto is much smaller than anticipated.

Not surprising I nearly missed it: a silver box with a bow.

First elf to arrive, I meet the woman in charge. Seems I wasn’t the only one who was taken by surprise. As she walks away with her mobile glued to her ear it is clear this is not what had been ordered.

But the show must go on and we are left to figure out how to open the silver box/present that is the grotto.

Ten minutes and some moronic instructions later, we have our home for the next six weeks.

The designer must have some affinity to futuristic décor as the colour scheme of blue and silver replaces a traditional red and green.

Now all we have to do is fill the grotto with sacks of presents, and this is where the manual labour begins.

Two male elves join the mix and the next couple of hours are spent in lifts, up stairs, lifting boxes, pushing shopping trolleys, unpacking and experiencing severe backache.

As we roll up our sleeves and get down to packing sacks and having the occasional tug of war with over selotaped boxes, one elf worries about her not- so-elf-like new tattoo being discovered.

During a break from lifting, two elves sit comparing the names of their beloveds engraved on their skin, and I, not being one to forget the names of my nearest and dearest, am left twiddling my earrings.

Next we are shown how to use the photo equipment with a woman who mentions the help desk a lot and says that when it comes to changing the paper and ribbon in the printer, “It can’t go wrong”. This just oozes a bad omen waiting to happen.

Whilst we engage with technology a Santa and a snowman from elsewhere prance around the shopping centre handing out leaflets about a Christmas show, forcing our Santa into hiding.


Five hours later and it is time to get into character.

Six elves and one Santa cram into what can only be described as a cupboard, managing to dress and paint on rosy cheeks.

As we arrive at the grotto a huge crowd has built up. I think I’m famous.

But it turns out most people are waiting for the return of the eight foot robot. (No not an action film, but a robot controlled by a remote.)

To stall for time the MC sings and thank goodness she can hold a tune. However, when she decides she wants backup dancers I want to crawl into a hole and die.

I want to recreate that time I was on a school trip and had to play a game that required a good memory for stupid actions. Instead of falling flat on my face in front of my classmates I wobbled and wobbled my tooth until I had blood streaming down my face and was allowed to be excused.

However, that was a baby tooth and as the years have rolled by I have gained a set of adult teeth.

So I gave it all I had. I waved my hands, avoided eye contact and listened to my bells ring in utter humiliation.

“Bet this wasn’t in the elves’ contract,” said the MC and I muttered to myself, “No it damn well wasn’t’”

Never before had I been so glad to see an eight-foot robot.

It is scary to say the least, but then anything that tall and moving would be.

It stomps its feet, sings, groans, but the best bit is it squirts water much to the kids’ delight and the adults’ dismay.

Then comes the mayor with such a tough act to follow, he speaks for all of 30 seconds, and then the highly anticipated Christmas light switch-on is anticlimactic at best.

So the attention turns to us in our outfits.

The grotto now open, I am put on queue management, giving out tickets to adults to write the names and ages of the children with them, so Santa can greet them all individually and another elf can scurry around for the right present.

Opening night sees the queue grow as tenaciously as Pinocchio’s nose. Never before have I seen so many kids in such a small area outside school.

I have to contend with names straight out of OK magazine: Madrid and various other Spanish locations, Indiana and Prague. Perhaps there was even a Barcelona.

Despite many kids when asked what they want for Christmas responding “Ipod touch, camera, Nintendo Wii,” there is only one girl who makes a scene about not liking her free present.

She asks for another despite the fact that it is appropriate for her age.

If she didn’t appreciate that she wouldn’t have got any more pleasure out of “My first day at school.”

However on finding out the grotto would be open every day until Christmas Eve, she gives Arnie a run for his money, as teeth bared, she threatens: “I’ll be back.”