Fings ain't wot they used to be. And neither was this Christmas.
'Do you believe in Father Christmas', I asked my 10-year-old daughter just before the holiday celebrations began.
'Don't be silly, dad', she replied. 'No-one does any more'.
'And what about you ?', I asked my 6-year-old son.
'You buy the presents. And you wrap 'em up', he replied defiantly, 'And there's no Tooth Fairy either', he added for good measure.
That's it, then. There's no Father Christmas (or Tooth Fairy) in my house any more. Kids seem to grow up so quickly these days, and it's the access to information (mainly through the internet) that puts paid to things like believing in Father Christmas. It's a shame, but I guess it's the price we pay for progress.
The parents came over on Boxing Day, and dad got lost driving throught London - as usual. His memory's got so bad in recent years, that I've taken to calling him 'Al' (as in Al Zheimer)
'That's so rude', said one of our other guests.
'Rubbish', I replied, 'Give him 5 minutes, and he'll have forgot I said it'.
And how about the New Year celebrations ? Frankly, I hate 'em. I won't be going out, as I see little point in being all jolly with a bunch of people who, in all honesty, I couldn't care less about. All that hypocrisy; I'd rather be at home with my kids - even though they will doubtless be busy playing computer games. New Year. New start. New opportunities. What utter rubbish. You wake up New Year's Day in the same bed, next to the same person, and can look forward to nothing more than going back to the same job (if you are lucky enough to have one), wearing the same old clothes. Enough said.
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