My Christmas list 2017
At the kitchen table, tongues hanging out of mouths in fierce concentration, scribbling on pieces of A4 paper with coloured pencils. The first line in the letter was always the same — “Dear Santa, Thank you for last year’s presents. This year can I have....” (manners first, dear) but the contents varied wildly.
One year I basically asked for the entire Smyths catalogue (Mom: That’s nice, Louise! Now pick out three things. ‘You little brat’ went unspoken.), the next I asked for a magic wand that never ran out of wishes (three wishes are for idiots, Aladdin), and a pet squirrel, (If he could talk that would be a bonus, but I didn’t want to be greedy.). I don’t remember my parents ever telling me that giving unlimited powers to a seven-year-old was a terrible idea or that a feral squirrel would probably murder me in my sleep, but by the end of November I had inevitably changed my mind and asked for a Hollywood Hair Barbie and the latest Marita Conlon-McKenna novel. I kept writing letters to Santa until I was well into my teens, prompting an awkward conversation with my mother when I was about 14.
