Christmas? I’ll get around to it . . . eventually

 “WHEN are we putting the Christmas tree up?” asks Billy on a daily basis. “Soon,” is my repetitive reply. I haven’t even thought about when. I haven’t even started shopping. To be frank, I’m rubbish at Christmas.

I have bought my cards, from charity shops, to ensure the 100 per cent of the money goes to whom it was intended rather than into a supermarket’s coffers. But I must remember to write and send them before December 25.

I should do an online food order, because that’s another thing I leave too late. And only Billy has written a list for Father Christmas, unprompted. He’s a boy who knows what he wants (and that’s football cards).

Bonnie’s technique for telling you what she wants is to sit in front of TV adverts shouting: “Want that! And that!”

“Father Christmas doesn’t listen to little girls with bad manners,” I warn her.

“Want that pleeeease. . .”

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