EWAN’S BLOG 17th December 2016
SO IS THIS SANTA GUY FOR REAL?
Hi there all of you, Ewan here. The last time I Blogged was 10th December and a lot has been happening since then. I may repeat myself if you’ve been keeping up with my advent blog, sorry.
This is my second Christmas experience. It is interesting because I can’t remember a lot about last Christmas. I was out of it. Mum says that’s normal, most people are at Christmas.
The thing I can’t remember much about is this guy Santa or Father Christmas. I have my doubts about him. Do you know what I mean?
No.1, - why does he have to have two or three different names. That’s suspicious.
Then Mum and Dad took me and Brother Rory to this amazing toy shop, Smyths. There were millions of toys there, may be even more, at least twenty five. I tried taking them all off the shelves and out their boxes but mum and dad spoilt that game.
They said me and Brother Rory could have anything we wanted for Christmas (I think they meant one thing) but it had to go to Santa.
This is my second major concern about Santa. There is all this big thing about his generosity. Tell Santa what you want, write him a letter, you better be good or he won’t bring you presents. But he’s not so generous.
Mum and Dad buy the gifts and give them to him to bring to me. I’m surprised at dad I thought he’d think, if I bought them I’ll give them.
Mum and dad have sent them to Santa. To be honest I don’t think we’ll ever see Santa or the presents again. How can mum and dad be so gullible?
All this about Santa’ss workshop is a load of rubbish too. He doesn’t make toys. Have you seen his hands? Not the hands of a craftsman. The presents all come from the shops, thankfully.
I have seen Santa so many times over the past month: at Santa Parks, at Clumber Park, in Hucknall, town centre and at Nursery. And his memory is hopeless. It is just as though he has never seen me in his life before, each time I see him.. He always says the same: What’s your name? How old are you? What do you want me to bring you?
I tell him every time. If he can’t remember my name how will he remember what I want?
They reckon he knows what you want, he knows if you’ve been bad and good. I think not. If he’s not sharp enough to remember who I am or what I want how will he know if I’ve been bad or good. No worries there, then. Business as usual.
On Christmas eve night right, I’ve heard tell he brings all these presents everybody else has paid for and whilst you are asleep comes down the chimney. That’s so scarry. There is something very odd about a guy who gives you presents, paid for by other people and is too scared to deliver them to the front door. I’d rather the DPD man or the Postman brought them when I was up, and they don’t put conditions on saying you’ve got to be good.
The other evening Santa did one of those flying visits to our street when mamma and grandad was looking after us. He was playing loud music. Instead of reindeer his sleigh was pulled by a huge white 4x4 car. Hardly traditional. Where was Rudolf and Dasher and Co?. Put out to grass. He was as vague as usual, “What’s your name, little man?” Didn’t even realise I am only a boy. No huge present just a toffee I couldn’t eat because it was a caramel.
Does he really have the ability to deliver? We shall see.
Another thing about Christmas. Why does mum and dad bring a tree in the lounge hang lots of balls on it and then get annoyed if you take them off and bounce or throw them? What is the point?
But the LED lights are just brilliant and magical.
My brother was in the Nursery nativity. That’s a play about baby Jesus being born. I feel sorry for him he was born on Christmas Day. Yes, his birthday is on Christmas Day. Most people are born at Christmas though. Cousin Freya was born Christmas Eve and mamma was born nearly at Christmas.
I could not go to see the nativity. I had to stay home and grandad sit. You see not everyone can have fun at Christmas. Mum and Granny went to see Brother Rory in the Nativity.
I thought he was playing Joseph, Mary, Jesus’ mum’s husband. My mum had bought a Joseph costume for him to wear. But when they came back home my mum said Brother Rory was a star. They must have changed his part, but he didn’t seem too disappointed
When I was a lad at school around 13 years old, our Maths teacher used to call me Wol. At the end of the year as we were moving up a class I plucked up courage to ask why he called me Wol. He told meit was thename of the deslexic owl in Winnie the Pooh. With my Harry Potter glasses he said I looked like the Wise Old Owl in the Winnie the Pooh stories.
Being the vain person I am I took it as a compliment
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