When I was just a little fellah, we went to Glasgow to see Santa. But this was a very special Santa: it was my great-grannie's brother Charlie. I can’t remember whether we went to see him at Lewis’s on Argyll Street or at nearby Goldbergs. My poor mum must have been in dilemma. Family pride meant that she wanted us to know that the big guy in red with the beard was Charlie. But if she did that, we might feel cheated at not getting to see the real Santa. It had turned out, she told us kids, that for some reason Santa couldn’t make it to Glasgow that day and had asked Uncle Charlie to stand in for him. It was a great honour; apparently.