'Honestly,' he remarked to Wilson, 'this village is like a shanty town and the dwellings are little better than tinsel-covered hovels!'
Then, while Wilson looked on in horror, Byron waded through the snow and knocked on the front door of one of the little houses.
A cheerful-looking Elf answered.
Byron asked him if he didn't feel oppressed by being made to work under such tyrannical and inadequate conditions by this so-called Father Xmas, but the elf was puzzled by the question.
'Well, of course not!' he replied, chuckling. 'We Elves are Magic, our village is Magic, our work is Magic, everything here is Magic – we laugh and sing all day long. All night long too, sometimes…'
Byron asked if they had a Company Benefits Scheme, and whether they received Double Time for all-night singing duties, but the Elf had gone.
Returning to Wilson's side, B whispered, 'They're too scared to complain – they think I'm an Informer working for this "Father Xmas" despot!'
Wilson grasped him firmly by the paw and led him away…
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