My daughters were in London; I was in Jamaica. And however much I pleaded, it seemed I might never get back to them
There is far too little written about the tyranny children impose on Christmas. We pretend that adults set the tone, but peer at Santa’s sleigh and it’s children, desperate for excitement and stuff, who are in the driving seat.
So it has always been in our house, with the Christmas routine established almost as soon as our two girls could stand upright. The note up the chimney (or rather wedged on a ledge of the fireplace to compensate for insufficient updraft), the tree dressed with communal effort and ceremony. Lights? Check. Tinsel? Check. Foil-covered chocolates? Check. Manky cat? Got to have the manky stuffed toy cat.