A Christmas Tale

It's morning but the sun has barely found the motivation to break through my mum's old floral curtains. It is on this barely-there morning that I lay in a nest of hair, half finished works, and the best of intentions when a shriek jerks me awake. All hair, paper stuck to my face, and wand at the ready. Are there barbarians at the gate?

The smallest of kinds comes barreling into my room and conquers my bed. Up and down my world shakes by the bed giant. 'SANTA'S COME. SANTA'S COME. COME SEE.' Off my Alexander leaves to conquer other worlds. Blurry and dazed, newly founded Alexandra tries to muster up a national pride but it's more like a funeral march. Mourning for the loss of sleep or time for coffee.

As I break from the hallway, I see it. A veritable mountain of gifts that I had nothing to do it. I choked on my shock and disbelief even as my daughter shows me that it's all real by diving into the center. An avalanche of gifts threatens to take us both.

I am told by a squeaky voice that we are not to leave England because 'Santa brings more gifts here!'

There are more gifts than I have room for. The culprit knows who they are.