THE last week of school saw my elder two a little jealous of their younger siblings, for a change. The primary/nursery Christmas celebrations are great – party food instead of school dinners, toy-days and visits to panto (the Deco’s Aladdin was brilliant, according to seven-year-old Bill).
Two-year-old Bonnie has met Father Christmas several times this month, including at the aforementioned rugby club, where she jabbered away in the queue to anyone who’d listen: “I’m seeing Farver Kiss’mus!” As soon as she got in for an audience with the big man himself – silence. Completely mute. Refused to say a word. Bloke had to apologise for her manners as she took her selection box and toddled out.
We all saw Father Christmas last week, but in an unexpected setting.
A car was performing a dodgy three-point-turn at a junction and we had to wait for it to get out of the way.
Imagine our surprise to see Father Christmas at the wheel, full suit, hat and beard, cursing away to himself. Well, I guess we all get a little stressed at this time of year . . .