It’s like los­ing your ton­sils…

Kentish Express Ashford & District - - Front Page -

Well, ding dong mer­rily on high to you all and I hope the Christ­mas spirit has well and truly welled up in­side you. From a per­sonal point of view I have to ad­mit that it’s taken rather a long time to get go­ing this year. I think what re­ally tipped the bal­ance,was see­ing the bay­ing crowd out­side Wool­worths, chomp­ing at the bit ready to un­leash and hurl them­selves into a bar­gain frenzy. What hap­pened in­side when the doors were fi­nally un­locked was some­thing rem­i­nis­cent of what hap­pens in Twick­en­ham on a rugby field. It wasn’t a place for the faint hearted I can tell you. And while I’m on the sub­ject, how sad is it that we are go­ing to lose the High Street in­sti­tu­tion that is Woolies? I com­pare it to hav­ing your ton­sils out. We know we don’t nec­es­sar­ily need them. But it’s nice to know they are there. You see, that’s Woolies for me! I do hope that some­body can step in at the eleventh hour and save them. Christ­mas for me th­ese days is all about the kids. My Maisy is nine and still very ex­cited about Santa’s ar­rival. The let­ter has been writ­ten and the car­rots have been bought for Ru­dolph and the gang and it’s still very mag­i­cal. But what’s more im­por­tant is that you can still bribe her into be­ing good and be­hav­ing her­self or risk los­ing a present as Santa is al­ways watch­ing. If you play your cards right, this can last a cou­ple of months. Un­for­tu­nately, my doubt­ing Thomas of a son, Char­lie, who will be 13 (teenager alert) on Christ­mas Day it­self, has now be­come a com­plete cynic re­gard­ing the whole oc­ca­sion, so I hope this story of when he was a be­liever suitably em­bar­rasses him. It was Christ­mas Eve and Char­lie was five. Ev­ery­thing was in place. The presents sat un­der the tree, car­ols were play­ing on the cas­sette recorder as we sang along while mak­ing mince pies. The mood was rather spoilt by my son cram­ming his fin­ger up his nose as if dig­ging for gold. I asked him not to be so rude and that was the kind of be­hav­iour that would have a present struck off Santa’s list. He re­moved the of­fend­ing digit promptly and apol­o­gised. Not five min­utes later, the fin­ger was once again thrust up the left nos­tril. “Right” I said, “That’s one present that can go back on the sleigh, for nose pick­ing.” “But Dad,” he protested, “I wasn’t pick­ing it, I was putting it back.” Have a very Merry Christ­mas and I’ll be back in the New Year.

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