It was the night before Christmas and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring except for the mouse.
The mouse had seen Santa sneak into the lounge,
Where a receipt from space station lay there to be found.
The mouse couldn’t believe what a bargain he’d got,
Space station self storage, a respectable lot.
Santa had run out of space in the Poles
And looked around the world for a safe place he could hold
Thousands of gifts for children worldwide,
Santa knew he’d picked well once he stepped inside.
Brightly lit corridors, sparkled ahead,
Secure doors and CCTV dissipated his dread,
His worry that nowhere would be just as good,
As his workshop and warehouse with elves in their hoods.
What’s more, it was warmer,
No gloves needed here,
So Santa went home and kicked back with a beer,
When Mrs Clause appeared, started shaking her head,
And placing her hands on her hips she said,
“I know now you worry about storage no more,
With Space Station toys are safer than before,
But your job is not over, you need to stay trim,”
As she removed the mince pies from in front of him,
She looked at Santa, and with a twinkle of glee
Said “You still need to get down the chimney, you see!”
Still in the lounge the mouse said to himself,
“How I wish I was a jolly Christmas elf,
Not only does Father C know how to fly,
He uses Space Station, so he must be a really smart guy!”