Nat Locke: If you don’t ask, you don’t get, right? So here is my official letter to Santa

Now that December is well and truly underway, and I’ve stopped screaming “HOW IS IT DECEMBER?” into the abyss, I guess it’s time to admit that the festive season is officially upon us.

Even I’m considering putting up my tree, even though it still feels too soon. Denial is like that.

It’s been a significant amount of time since I’ve done this, but I thought, hey, what the heck, let’s write a letter to Santa. If you don’t ask, you don’t get, right?

So, in the spirit of Mariah, all I want for Christmas is:

• A good night’s sleep. Seriously, what I wouldn’t give for a solid eight hours, with no alarm to ruin the party and no mysterious night noises to wake me up at 2:12am and the perfect temperature for the entirety. Oh, sweet unattainable bliss. If the cat could desist from loudly announcing that she has killed a mouse for me at 3:17am that would be highly desirable too.
• Slightly less fancifully, I might as well also ask for world peace. And I know I just said that quite flippantly, but it would be rather good, wouldn’t it? News bulletins might be significantly cheerier for starters, and Miss Universe contestants could concern themselves with other things.
• A love of gardening. I feel like I should have developed this by now, but sadly, I’m still lacking the necessary skills and motivation to make my backyard nice. I can appreciate a lovely garden, but I am unable to convert that appreciation into anything beyond an occasional wander through a Bunnings garden centre, where I buy a few plants and take them home to watch them slowly die. Or sometimes, quickly die. Yes, it’s a gift. But if Santa could somehow bestow me with a green thumb, I’d be ever so grateful.
• Shoe shops that stock a good number of size 10 shoes. Yes, having a big wide foot is a challenge. And by challenge, I mean monumental curse. If I had a dollar for every time a harried shoe shop employee has informed me that they are out of my size, I could buy my own shoe shop and stock it ONLY WITH SIZE 10 SHOES (seriously, does anyone want to invest in this with me?). I was once told that a particular shoe retailer only ordered three pairs of each design in size 10 and there were four employees of that store who wore size 10 and therefore got first dibs. So, Santa, if you can’t organise a greater availability of size 10 shoes, could you get me a job at a shoe store where the other employees are all a size eight?
• Some thank you waves. If I let someone into traffic, could they please just give me a little wave? It doesn’t have to be a major flailing of the arms, either. Just a slight upward and inoffensive movement of a finger or two to show that they acknowledge I have done a little something for them. Not because I need the validation, but because I need to believe in humanity again.
• A social media platform that only feeds me videos of sloths being rescued, capybaras doing capybara things, dogs being reunited with their owners after time away, hoarder houses being cleaned up, rugs being washed, outlandishly decorated Christmas trees and Donna Hay and RecipeTin Eats cooking videos. That is literally all I need to be exposed to on social media. It would turn doomscrolling into joy-scrolling and I’m here for it. I don’t need to see some millennial telling me I’m using concealer wrong, or wearing the wrong socks, or that I need to eat only cottage cheese and pickle juice or that there’s been some unfathomable scandal at the TikTok Awards. Dogs, capybaras, sloths. That’s all I need. So, pop that into your sack for me, could you Santa? (That sounded weirder than I intended it to.)
• And I don’t want to be too greedy, so I’ll finish with one more request. Santa, pretty please, could the Eagles rise from the doldrums next season? I’m a realist. I don’t want finals glory in 2026, but a few unexpected wins and to get on a bit of a roll. That’d be nice. Get the elves onto it, could you?

And with that, I officially declare the festive season open. You’ll find me looking lovingly at fruit mince pies for the next two-and-a-half weeks, before I buy them for half price after Christmas, because it turns out I’m the only person who likes them.

And now, I’m off to deck the halls.