Updated: Apr 11
Second writing prompt, 7 December
The gauntlet was thrown down by www.janeishly.com. The challenge to pick a word from her teabag of the day courtesy of her tea Advent calendar and to write for a whole 15 minutes to see what you produce. I duly took up the challenge and am now presenting you with the second 15 minutes unedited, undiluted *insert epithet here*. Please note: these are random musings and no facts have been verified!
I don’t remember Santa or Father Christmas from my own childhood. No doubt he existed, I just don’t recall my thoughts about him. What I do recall is the efforts my sister made to prove his existence. She suspected something was amiss about the whole thing and one Christmas decided she was going to get irrefutable proof one way or another.
She rigged up an elaborate system of strings and pulleys, which she proceeded to attach to her bedroom doorknob and her big toe. If Santa sneaked in during the night, her toe would be yanked so hard that it would be sure to wake her up and she could see what the big guy looked like.
Did it work? I believe not. My parents AKA Secret Santa somehow managed to discover the string tied to the door and were able to sneak in and deliver those parcels of joy hidden inside the Christmas stockings so loved by children the world over. Morning happiness guaranteed and Santa lived on another year.
I have no real recollection of this happening, so I have to rely on witness testimony for the facts. What I do remember though is my sister telling me with glee that Father Christmas had died in a helicopter crash so there wouldn’t be any presents this year. I cried for a long time, thanks Big Sis, but miraculously he appeared to have devised some sort of back-up system and Christmas was saved. Yay!
As parents, we love to put Christmas rituals into place. Our own involved setting up stockings by the fireplace and putting out a mince pie and a glass of sherry for Father Christmas and a helping of carrots for the reindeer. Come morning, these would be half eaten as he would otherwise be massive and not fit down the chimneys. The sherry was always drunk interestingly enough. The children would also write their present list on a scrap of paper and throw it into the fire so that it could be magically sent to Santa. He always knew exactly what the kids wanted. No idea how…. Or do I?
If you'd like a story written especially for you, just send me an