I don't know where I'd be without Mrs Claus. She is a truly special woman. A great cook, a thrifty housekeeper, a loving surrogate mother to those cheeky elves. Always busy, and yet she somehow finds time to immerse herself in all our local village activities here in Finnish Lapland, such as chairing the organising committee of the annual Queen of the Fish-salters festival.

She never complains. Except sometimes about the state of my clothes when I return from my round-the-world Christmas tour. "Soot! Soot! Soot! - I'm sick of soot!" she says. "What is it with chimneys? Can't you go in the front doors like everyone else?" I try to explain to her that in countries with high burglary rates, chimneys are the only house entry-points not alarmed. But her frustration is understandable. And by the way, she is an excellent laundress as well.

Apart from her cooking and housekeeping and her involvement in the social life of the village, Mrs Claus is also a cornerstone of the whole Santa operation. Not many people know this, but our famous list system for keeping track of naughty and nice children was devised by her. For many years I used to make the list and check it once, if I had time. But Mrs Claus insisted it be checked twice, because she was convinced some naughty children were getting through the net. That's another thing about Mrs Claus - she's strict (but fair).

She doesn't normally get involved with the toy-making, although she has helped during emergencies: notably two years ago when we lost many of our top elves to the new Intel plant, and also during the infamous elf strike of 1974.

I don't quite know how to say this, but she can be a little too creative for the toy factory. Modern children know exactly what they want; and I'm not boasting, but if they ask for a pair of Nike shoes, my elves will produce as exact a replica of the originals as any of the top pirating operations in the Far East. But Mrs Claus would sew funny faces on to the shoes, "to make them more interesting". You can see the problem.

She doesn't come with us on the Christmas trip either, of course. She did once, but it was a disaster. Flying around the world behind a team of reindeer has its drawbacks. I don't know what it is about Finnish grassland, but on a bad night the team could burn a hole in the ozone layer!

Mrs Claus is also a nervous flier, however, and on this occasion we hit severe turbulence over Southern Europe, causing her to become violently ill for the rest of the trip. It's funny, but we had never experienced turbulence before. I had a suspicion that Rudolf, who has a troubled relationship with Mrs Claus, might have had something to do with it. But he denied it, although his nose was glowing even more than usual, I thought.

Being world famous, I'm always in demand on the international lecture circuit. And since we leave the sleigh behind and fly Finnair on these occasions, Mrs Claus invariably accompanies me. She loves to meet other famous first ladies, which can also lead to problems.

We met Hillary Clinton once, and for a time afterwards Mrs Claus wasn't so happy about devoting herself to homemaking. She demanded a bigger input into "child policy" as she called it. And she even got a new hairstyle - a "bob" I believe (it must have been a four-man bob, judging by the cost!). When she asked me what I thought of it, I couldn't think of anything to say except: "Ho, Ho, Ho". She didn't speak to me for weeks.

We've been together for centuries now, which is a very long time (especially in Lapland) and of course we've had our disagreements. There was that awful misunderstanding in Hamburg one year, when I went to a so-called "lap-dancing club". The traditional dances of Lapland are one of the glories of Northern Finland, and I was delighted at what I thought was a rare chance to see them performed in a foreign country.

Sadly, the dances in this club had very little in common with those staged on the final night of our village's annual deer-skinning competitions (another of Mrs Claus's responsibilities). And as for the national dress, I can only say that whatever country these dancers were from must have had a climate much warmer than Finland's! Then they had the nerve to make fun of my appearance, with lewd suggestions such as: "Fill my stocking, big boy!" I left without paying for my drink, and I'm afraid the affair got into the Scandinavian tabloids. Mrs Claus was frostier than an Arctic winter when I returned.

Another Christmas I didn't get back until January - Rudolf suffered a bird strike over Norway so we had to put down for a couple of days - and I missed our 750th wedding anniversary. I found Mrs Claus in bed with several bottles of the Latvian vodka I use for rubbing the reindeer in very cold weather. "There he issh [hic] Mister world-famous big shot!" she said, throwing one of the empties at me.

I made her some strong coffee and she sobered up eventually, but not before she accused me of loving her less than "that moose with the big ugly red nose". I was angry with her about that, because she said it right in front of poor Rudolf, who still has unresolved issues from the teasing he got as a calf. It's the nearest Mrs Claus and I have had to a permanent falling out.

Then there's the problem of presents. As Santa Claus, I like to think I'm something of an expert in this area, but I can never buy the right thing for Mrs Claus. Clothes are always the wrong size or colour. Perfumes are the wrong brand. And as for the year I bought her exotic underwear in Copenhagen: Ouch!

I won't pretend that I don't enjoy getting out on my own for one night of the year. It's good for both of us, in fact: when you've been together as long as we have, you can get on each other's nerves. Last night, she snapped at me for no apparent reason: "Do you have to say `Ho, Ho, Ho' all the time? Couldn't you say `Ha, Ha, Ha' just for a change?"

And you know, much as I love her dearly, sometimes I can have too much of listening to her going on and on about those bloody village festivals, or insisting I have yet another helping of her Christmas pudding. Christmas pudding every day of the year! No wonder I'm fat.

But as I say, Mrs Claus is a special woman, and I wouldn't be where I am today without her. Despite everything, she still believes in me, and that's not something I can say of many adults.

We're a team, the two of us. And speaking of teams, Rudolf and the boys are ready to go. So if you'll excuse me, I'm outta here!

Santa was in conversation with Frank McNally (aged 38)